


Outlander: A Stephen Bonnet & Brianna Fraser Story

by sandyclarkxx



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, American History, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irish Language, Past Sexual Abuse, Pirates, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Villains, Villains to Heroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 66,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23510392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyclarkxx/pseuds/sandyclarkxx
Summary: An alternate universe where Roger doesn’t exist.She’d revealed his chance at love and normalcy.A son.A wife.His.And he’d take them.
Relationships: Stephen Bonnet/Brianna Fraser
Comments: 298
Kudos: 204





	1. A Coin for “Luck”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Outlander” they belong to Diana Gabaldon **

**A/N: **This first chapter focuses in on Bonnet visiting Frasers ridge. In which he sees his son and gives him the coin. I have changed the baby’s name in this AU, because there currently is no Roger. To clarify, Brianna is 100% sure that Bonnet is her baby’s father.** **

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Chapter 1: A coin for “Luck”

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**July 1770, North Carolina, The Colonies**

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_“If it makes dying any easier for you, to know that there’s something left of you on this earth—then you’re welcome to the knowledge.”_ Why the hell had she even said it? Why did she care as to whether he had a moment of peace before he died? He’d stolen her trust, her innocence, her ability to be honest with her loved ones. She wasn’t the same person she’d been before; _she was different now— damaged._

****

It was hard for Brianna to pretend that everything was okay. She’d _had to lie to everyone_ in some way or another. “Her husband had passed away tragically, from an unknown illness,” well that was what most people had come to believe. “This husband,” had left her with child… and alone after a fever that just wouldn’t break had taken him.

****

“It was _just_ a summer fling,” she’d told her mother. To the unknown eye, she was just a young widow. Every day it was a constant struggle to keep pushing forward, always trying to smother those feelings of pain and anxiousness away. Surprisingly, all those emotions seemed to disappear when she looked down at her little bundle. Her heart was consumed with love when she set her eyes on her little _Aidan_. It was an odd feeling, to hate someone so much-- but to know with such certainty that they have given you the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid your eyes on. _He looked like him too,_ that she couldn’t ignore. Every day his eyes turned a little greener.

****

She woke up on that particularly crisp and cool morning, to the sounds of gurgling and cooing from the bassinet just next to the bed. “Come to Mama,” she hummed, picking up the smiling infant. She quickly placed him onto her breast, making sure he was well fed before turning him over to Mrs Bugs. He gazed up into her eyes like he always did first thing in the morning, at eight weeks old he was just starting to return the gesture of life with the reward of cheeky and chubby smiles.

****

As much as motherhood suited Bree, her trip to town for a variety of amenities, had been a welcomed break away from the ridge.

****

She made her way from store to store, stopping at stalls and small corner stores. Taking the institutive to learn about this new world that she was still growing accustom to with each passing day. Fresh fruits and vegetables, gun powder, cottons and linens were the majority of what was on offer, each item familiar but different in their own rights.

****

As she walked about dodging the horses and carriages, she couldn’t help but notice the gawking and constant unwanted attention of the male townsfolk. Most were suggestive stares, from the ends of her skirts to the tips of her deep auburn hair. She was so unique and different from all the other women of this time. Her skin was porcelain and unmarked, her face gentle and soft. And of course, her undeniably beautiful and elaborate hair. The rare colour and the way it fell in ringlets even when she attempted to contain it in a ribbon, sent men from every direction into a conniption. Where was _“‘Miss Clairol’ you needed her”_ she rolled her eyes to herself.

****

The suggestive smirks sent a cold shiver down her spine. One in particular reminded her of that very same look he’d had in his eyes, that night he’d closed the doors behind them. _“No, I think it’s you, who ‘as mistakn’ me.”_ Perhaps it hadn’t been clever to walk amongst the town on her own, but she had needed the space. What was another risk taken?

****

“Allo miss,” Said a drawled-out voice, “Beatifol shade o’ ‘air you ‘ave got der.” He purred almost condescendingly.

****

Brianna spun around from the remark, her face confused and taken a back. “I Beg your pardon?”

****

“I said beautiful ‘air you’ve got miss, lovely shade o’ red.” He smirked, displaying a mouth of putrid rotten teeth, the stench overpowering even with him a couple of feet away.

****

“Oh, ah, thank you,” She quickly pushed past him, ensuring she didn’t lock eyes with him again.

****

“Oi Miss!” He shouted ungently, his voice nearly seeming powerful enough to pull her back on its own.

****

Grabbing her attention, she worriedly whisked herself back around. “Yes?” She replied hesitantly, her eyes were full of apprehension.

****

“just wanted to say… it’s Good to see you well lass,” he smirked grimly, with humour in his eyes. And with that said he turned on his heels and headed back in the direction of the _Gloriana_.

****

***

****

_He’d been watching her._

****

Not that she’d have ever known it. A smuggler, a pirate, he was no doubt both of those things. But—Stephen Bonnet was also a man trained in combat and in all its companions. One being, if he didn’t want to be seen, then _he wasn’t._

****

_His son. His blood. The mother of his child,_ both at an arm’s reach, both ready for the taking.

****

_His property._

****

She’d thought she could just cut ties with him? …She thought he would just die, that he would never bother to pursue her? She had something that belonged to him. Truly a remarkable woman she was—but oddly foolish and naïve. _Beautiful_ and fair, a valuable treasure to add to his collection of plundering. “I always wanted to be a father,” he’d repeated to himself like a mantra inside his head.

****

A lesson would need to be taught. Slowly, he’d make his presence known. He’d make her think she was slightly crazy, make her too afraid to confide in anyone. “Was he really there?” She’d have thoughts of insanity to herself. When she couldn’t take it anymore, he’d strike. He’d come for her, come for both of them.

****

But in the meantime, it was time for him to meet his son.

****

***

****

“Oh why hello der sir, is there somethin’ I can help you with?”

****

“Oh no, I was joesht passin’ through you see, thought dat I might look at purchasin’ some land oehp dis way,” Bonnet flashed his best smile, a cane in his hand and his clothes clean and neatly pressed, he was very much a lion dressed as a lamb.

****

“Oh well, the masters of the house are out now you see, down in town. Won’t you come back a little later in the afternoon? When they have returned?” Mrs Bugs gushed a little at the handsome Irishman in front of her.

****

“Aye, o’ coosehrse, I’ll do dat, thank you for the recommendation.” He grinned again, gesturing a small bow. His cane and each of his rings capturing the lightly perfectly from the movement.

****

“canna just say… what a ‘andsome lad you have gaht dere….” He looked longingly down to the small bassinet clutched in the old woman’s arms. “May I ask— does he take after ‘is mother or ‘is father?” He gently grazed a large calloused hand against the small wool blanket covering the tiny infants form.

****

“Oh, well… to be honest, I dinnae ken. You see his father passed away, when his mother was still with child… he must do though, as I canna see any of his mother in there. She’s a bonnie lass too, you ken.” She smiled up to Bonnet, he couldn’t seem to meet her gaze, too enthralled by the small child in front of him. He was so close; it would have been so easy to just take him. Kill anyone that stood in his way. Waiting for his pleasures, was not something he was accustom to, but he’d have to wait, it wasn’t the right time.

****

“Aye, must then. What’s the wee lad’s name den?” he purred soothingly, at the small babes smile forming.

****

“Wee Aidan sir,” Mrs bugs stated proudly, “I ken he likes ye, he’s not even given me a big smile like that before. Look at his bonnie little face.”

****

_Of course, he’d smile at me, even this baby knows who his true father is. My flesh and blood._

****

“Aidan, a good strahng Irish name… be sure to tell ‘his mother what a ‘andsome lad she’s gaht ‘ere.” He smiled down once more, dimples forming as his smile took over from ear to ear. “Oh and… be sure to give ‘er my cahndolences… fahr her ‘usbands passin’ of course. Such a shame for the wee babe to grow up wit out a father.” He manipulated with a grimace. Then not wasting another moment he reached into his coat pocket to pull out a small silver coin.

****

“For luhck.” He grinned once again, reaching down to peel back small white linens. Then placed it delicately next to the tiny warm body. _“Bootiful green eyes ‘is got,”_ he winked, the thick scar on the side of his face crinkling with it.

****

“Good day,” he gave one last bow.

****

_Then Regrettably, he made his way back from where he came with the promise and plan-- that he would be back again and soon._


	2. “A Family Man, I’ll be”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**Warning: Implied non-consensual sexual encounter. Writing for this chapter is not particularly explicit but could trigger some readers.**

Chapter 2: “A Family Man, I’ll be”

“Captain, when will we be departin’? Ship’s full to the brim it is—covered the whiskey with fish just like you said. We’ll need to set sail soon before--”

“Oh, I must’ve been mistaken, Are ye the captain now?” Bonnet smirked from where he was lazily seated. His black boots were neatly folded across his desk, attached to a pair of long and muscular legs.

“Of course, not captain… I only meant--” The regretful sailor shook and stuttered with fear at the approaching Captain Bonnet.

“Question me again-- and perhaps you’ll be swemmin’ with the sharks dis evenin’.” Bonnet half smiled, then chastised him with a few ‘less then gentle’ slaps across his filthy and dishevelled face.

“Bring me Weasley!” He bellowed and watched as the spared man ran for the hills to fetch ‘this Weasley.’

It wasn’t long before the same terrified pirate came marching back down to Bonnet’s office with ‘Weasley’ in tow. The short and robust man came barrelling in behind, “Sorry captain, I know you was probably waiting for me…” he muttered quietly, “I found your lass, in town… she’s well.” He added more confidently this time. “…she was wandering around alone captain…. She seemed afraid of me, she did.”

“You did, _did you_?” Bonnet smiled widely, “what wonderful news,” he added, casually cleaning his nails with his dirk.

“I thought it was only your wee bairn, you were wantin’ captain?” Weasley puzzled carefully, “I can see why you’d want the lass too though.” He grinned obnoxiously.

“I won’t have ye makin’ remarks about the _future Mrs Bonnet, now you ‘ear?”_ Bonnet proclaimed, his voice was raised, but he allowed a hint of humour to overshadow it. His words were serious, and the pair knew not to push further.

Stalking in towards the jumpy pair, Bonnet planned to intimidate further. The two older pirates trembled at his large mass towering over them. Both gazing up, too nervous to lock eyes with the pale green ones above them.

“The child will need a mother, _babies need mothers_. –It’s one thing to have spawn with some whore, but it’s quite another to ‘ave a son, with a proper lass—I won’t have him being _some_ _bastard_.” He spat angrily; a soft spot struck perhaps. It surprised the pair and the way Bonnet’s eyes softened once he said it, said it surprised him too.

His plans of torturing Brianna mentally seemed to have come to halt. Partially out of a lack of time, but also for some strange pang in his chest at the thought of what it might do to her. _No, he didn’t care, he couldn’t. It was nothing. Time wasn’t on his side and that was that._

“Course not captain.” Weasley nodded, “Let me know if ye need any help collecting ‘em, happy to help.”

“No, you’ll stay ‘ere and finish preparing the ship. Load up the last of the cargo, we’ll be departin’ in the mornin’.” Briskly he motioned to his coat and wasted no time in collecting his dagger and pistol. Lastly, he pulled the few strands of loose hair back over his ears. Then he made his way towards the door to exit.

“I guess, it’s a family man, I’ll be gentlemen.”

*

“Was he good for you?”

“Oh! he was a pleasure lass! Don’t fas yourself!” Mrs bugs gushed placing the bassinet atop the lush grass of the meadow.

“Hello handsome,” Bree smiled down to the gummy smile beneath her. Leaning down she lifted him out of his cocoon of blankets. Hearing a “dink” sound as she did. “What’s this?” she asked with a brow furrowed. She held the shiny coin up for Mrs bugs to see, it caught the light just right to make her eyes water slightly.

“Oh that! That was a gift, for luck you see… lovely gentleman came around and popped it right in there, he did.” She explained, smiling widely at the memory of the charming man she had chatted with just moments before.

“…Who did?” Bree asked so abruptly she had forgotten it wasn’t normal behaviour.

“An Irish gentleman he was… He was quite taken with the wee lad.” Mrs Bugs smile slowly faded, “I’d never let any harm come to the wee bairn, you ken?”

“Oh of course I do,” Bree smiled warmly. “I just don’t want his head filled with Irish non-sense.” She scoffed playfully and hoped her attempt at playing off her obvious anxiousness had worked. This had to be a sign that her thoughts of making her way back home, were without a doubt the right thing to do.

She had to get back to her own time.

She hated that she’d have to just leave; her mother and father had requested she waited until Aidan was at least one year old. Claire was terrified he’d become unwell on the long journey back to Scotland. But Brianna just couldn’t wait any longer, she had to leave. She felt alone, distant and out of place in this strange land.

“You don’t look well mistress, are you ill?” Mrs Bugs placed a caring hand on Bree’s shoulder.

“Oh yes, I’m fine… I think I’ll take Aidan back to the cabin for a rest.” She smiled back the best she could.

“Of course, my dear,” I’ll let Miss Elizabeth know, shall I?” She questioned worriedly, Bree only smiled and nodded her answer, before dismissing herself to head back into the direction of her small cabin.

She’d initially been living in the main house, but the constant crying and wailing throughout the night seemed to interrupt everyone’s sleep, making her feel like she was constantly walking on eggshells. Sensing her uneasiness, Jamie had built her a small log cabin just outside their residence—a little space of her own, she was grateful for it. Except for times like these, she was left in charge of the ridge. Jamie and her mother were often gone for extended periods of time—this time they’d been gone for nearly two weeks, with no promise of when they’d return.

The questions that clouded Bree’s mind were pulled to an immediate halt as she walked through the thick grass surrounding the ridge. “Damn it!” she cursed to herself as she stepped into a large pile of some sort of dung. A strong glass of whiskey was going to be needed if she was to get any sleep today or tonight. _It couldn’t possibly have been Bonnet, could it? He’d have no interest in his child, alive or not._

Perhaps giving him her forgiveness and seeking him out would be a dyer mistake, had she given him the wrong idea? “What could he possibly have to gain from coming after us.” She muttered under her breath as she made her way up the steps of her small lodge. Surely a small child would only slow a man like him down, was it out of spite? Was he just evil and wanting to take something from her that he knew would hurt her? He had to know she would love her child with every fibre of her body… or was it something more fuelling him? Was he coming to claim him out of fraternal attachment? If he was really here-- then why hadn’t he just taken him?

The man in town, he hadn’t seemed familiar, but she knew Bonnet had many men working for him on his ship and he’d no doubt have spies all around her.

_It was time to make her way back, back towards the stones, back to her life. She’d leave tonight._

*

_“Excuse me gentlemen, but you wouldn’t happen to be able to point me into the direction of ‘Fraser’s Ridge,’ would you?”_

_“Now darlin’ what would a beautifoel yooehng lady like yoehrself be doin’ travellin’ alone?” He smirked handsomely, “Haven’t you got yoehrself a nice lad to point in you in the right direction?” He leant back into his chair, placing his hands slowly onto the back of his head while eyeing her up and down provocatively._

_“Oh of course, I’m travelling with someone— “She chose her words wisely. “But I was hoping to have directions by morning, so I could begin to make my way at first light,” she smiled back timidly._

_“Well, sweetheart, I may have a map I could sell ye, you interested?” He cocked a dimple to the side, he was so handsome, she felt her knees buckle a bit just from his voice and the way his smile crinkled his face to one side._

_“Do you always pet name women you aren’t acquainted with?” She questioned with a raised brow._

_Stephen chuckled at her remark, “nah, o’ course not, only the pretty ones.”_

_Bree tried to hold back the smile that was forming on her lips. Charming and handsomely rugged, he was a sight to see. Although he had a jacket on it was clear he was of strong stock, sporting a broad chest and thick arms. His eyes were a piercing green, the kind of green you’d see in a pale and rare emerald. His dirty blonde locks contrasted against them perfectly. Apart from the thick scar on the side of his face and the layer of dirt coating his skin, he was undeniably a very attractive man._

_“Well what do you say darlin,’ come wit me upstairs and well get the map, what do you say?” He stood up from the chair he was seated in, already knowing her answer it would seem._

_“How much do you want for it?” she took a hesitant step back, as she realised just how tall his stature was._

_“Comb now, you never ‘aggle in public sweetheart.” He purred, leaning into her ear, he placed a loose curl back onto the top of her head._

_In her gut, she’d known it wasn’t right. If she’d looked at herself in that moment through a looking glass, she’d have seen exactly what he had wanted. But for some strange reason, she decided to overlook it. It may have been his Irish charm, or the way he seemed to have a way with his words. It seemed with each phrase he spoke, a seductive purr lingered. Or maybe it had just been the desperation to find her mother and Jamie._

_But for whatever the reason, she followed him up those tavern stairs into an unknown room. Had she not entered in first, she may have been able to stop him from bolting the door. “Map’s just on dat table over dere.” He informed, as he pulled the latch over with one hand._

_“Last time I checked… a door doesn’t need to be locked to make a purchase.” Bree backed her way nervously, bumping into the rooms small wooden desk._

_“Well I assumed de exchanged you and I would be sharin,’ would.” He smiled and began stalking his way over._

_“You know darling, I can’t quite place youehr accent, where were you frahm? He leant an arm on each side of the desk, boxing Bree’s small frame between bulging biceps._

_“Umm, all over, I grew up all over,” she breathed in nervously, pulling her body back as far into the desk as it would go._

_“What’s the matter darlin,’ you afraid?” He purred, the seeping smell of whiskey hot and strong against her neck, sent a wave of shivers down her entire body._

_“I um… I--” She stuttered in an uncertain whisper, her voice was soft and haggard, by his invasive touch and stance. Perhaps a pash or two would have been welcomed, but it was clear from the bulge between his legs he had other plans for the evening._

_He leant in further, pinning her body hard with his massive form. Placing his hands on either side of her face he stole a kiss, striking fast and hard. “I believe you have mistaken me!” She gasped, slapping the side of his face so hard, the shattering noise echoed off the room’s walls._

_“No, I believe it’s you who has mistakn’ me,” he grinned. Ignoring the red welt across his face, he pulled her lips back to his, this time harder, ensuring she couldn’t struggle her way out once again. Bonnet smiled as she briefly melted into his body, it was short lived when she came to at the realisation of where their encounter was headed. “I lurve a woman wit spirit,” He ignored her protests and thrust his tongue in further. He tasted of strong liquor and the smell of a man’s work lingered on his clothing. Before long, it was over, and Bree was left stunned and confused as to whether it had happened at all._

_As she reached the door knob to leave, Bonnet walked in behind her, breathing hard he placed a sloppy kiss atop the nape of her neck, “I pay for my pleasures, I’m an honest man for a pirate,” he placed the map into her hands. “You ever need anything else sweetheart, you can find me at the ‘Gloriana,’ Captain Bonnet, at ye service,” the screeching of metal soared through the room as he pulled the bolt free._

*

Nightmares.

Almost every night.

The memory of _his touch, his hot skin on hers._

The worst was when she’d enjoyed it, tonight had been one of those nights-- she’d need a stiff drink. Brianna made her way from her bed and tiptoed her way towards the whiskey bottle atop the small wooden table. She’d counted on a restless night’s sleep; she’d collect the rest of her things together and make her mad dash towards the ships. If Stephen saw her, he’d no doubt want a pound of her flesh. She would have to be careful if she was going to go unnoticed throughout Wilmington.

She chugged back the remainder of the amber liquid and felt the release of her tension as it burnt its way down her throat. Placing her cloak over her pink floral dress, she pulled the hood up over her head to conceal her flamboyant hair as best she could. She understood Jamie’s issues after Culloden now, ‘ _Red Jamie’_ would have been a hard alias to escape.

She had packed lightly, only a small rucksack, filled with cloth nappies and a few extra shifts. A bar of lye soap and all the money she could conjure together. Lastly, she couldn’t leave behind her beloved sketch book, along with a few pieces of charcoal. Like a misunderstood teenager running away from home, she snuck out in the darkness of the night.

She’d have to hitchhike down the river, that was a risk all on its own. But she couldn’t stay any longer, she needed to get home. There was nothing for them here, she couldn’t even be honest with her parents. This was her mother’s time, not hers. Here, she was tainted and there were little opportunities for her to make something of her life. She wouldn’t just “remarry” for the sake of her reputation—and for what to have more babies? She was a burden on her family, and felt she’d put a black mark against their name. --No this wasn’t the place for her at all.

At home, she’d start again, leave everything behind and meet someone new, maybe even finish university. That’s what she told herself as she left the sealed envelope on the porch of the main house. _Mama_ , she’d miss her, there was no denying that, but she had to do this. And _Da…’_ hopefully he’d come to understand too. Maybe she’d even come back _someday._

She was grateful that like her mother and father, she didn’t have a racist bone in her body. If she had, she would have never acquainted herself with the ‘slaves’ on her aunts’ plantation. Her time at _River Run_ had paid off, she realised as she placed her warm bundle against her chest. She fastened him against her with the use of a long piece of white cotton. She’d given him a big feed before they’d left and in doing so, he appeared to already have ‘milk drunken’ eyes. They adorably rolled open and closed as she finished tying him to her chest. The homemade harness would make it easier for her to make her way through the rough terrain that they’d have to endure. Aidan may have even gone unnoticed to the naked eye. She noted he’d also cry a whole lot less with the scent of her milk just inches away.

She bolted through trees finding the most discrete path possible. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath her feet, setting her slightly off balance from the unevenness of it. She clutched her precious cargo a little closer to her chest ensuring his head was supported and wouldn’t bobble. Guaranteeing she followed the river, she listened to the soft tinkle as it flowed down stream. The first boat she saw, she’d flag it down and hope to God they would help her. “What the hell am I doing, this is beyond stupidity,” she muttered to herself.

“Aye it tis,” a low voice weighed in from behind. Bree whipped her head back around in shock, she certainly hadn’t planned on anyone listening.

“Hello? Who’s there? I’m warning you; I have a pistol and my husband isn’t far….” She stuttered through her lie. Her voice was soft and small but the tone in her voice was an obvious warning. Stepping back slightly, she could only see the outline of a dark figure a few trees away.

“Is dat so?” The voice mocked coolly, finishing off with a deep chuckle. The dark figure obviously calling her bluff as they leant up casually against the tree adjacent.

“What do you want!” Her voice broke with uneasiness, the fear clear and present.

_“You— o’ course,”_ he made his approach, catching the light of the moon just enough for his identity to be known. – And when he did, Bree’s heart stopped beating.


	3. “The Hands of a Pirate”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: I’m trying to isolate myself, so no one judge on my frequent updating. I have nothing else to do! *runs and hides* hope you guys are still enjoying the story! I’ll no doubt update again later.**

**Warning: Adventure at every turn!**

Chapter 3: “The Hands of a Pirate”

“ _You—_ ” she gasped.

Inhaling deeply, Bree hoped it would be enough to even out her panicked breathing. Instinctively, she slowly backed herself away, subconsciously creating as much distance as she could from her invader. _Captain Stephen Bonnet,_ in the flesh.

He looked different from their last encounter. His hair was neatly held in a leather bound, his clothing clean and neatly pressed and of fine quality. _He’d pass for a gentleman; she’d internally scoffed to herself._ She also noticed that unlike their previous meeting at the _jail_ , during his brief incarceration, he was now armed with weaponry. Not that he’d need a weapon to harm her.

 _“Me?_ –were you expectin’ someone else _darlin’_? Yer husband, perhaps?” He mocked her outward lie with a patronising laugh. “Now tell me sweet’art’ what exactly are ye doing out and ‘bout this time of night?” He was close enough now to see the worrisome creases on her face and it stung him just a bit to see just how much she really feared him. He shook that off quickly though.

“I could ask you the same.” She attempted to keep moving in the direction she had been headed, but a strong hand to her upper arm stopped her in her tracks. She glanced from his hand to his piercing green eyes, initially fear stricken but then anger overshadowing her emotions. “I’m leaving…” she muttered, shaking roughly to free herself from his grip.

He was even larger than she remembered-- he’d have to have been well over six foot, a similar height and build to Jamie. Standing at just five foot five and weighing in at about a hundred and fifteen pounds, Bree could do little more than use her words to intimidate him back. When he wouldn’t release her, she kept her eyes firmly on the ground beneath her, unable to meet his stare.

“Leavin’? to go where? And witout my son too, didn’t picture you’d be doin’ that?” He puzzled with honest interest but released her when he felt she had stopped wiggling from his grip.

“You can’t have him!” She spat, moving forward slightly to stand her ground. Apparently, her fear had grown old and now she was just angry, _so much for forgiveness._

“ _Brianna_ …” he paused before starting again. “I hadn’t planned on takin’ ‘im from ye…. I asked ye once if you’d come with me and I’m askin’ ye again now.” His green eyes flashed once again in the pale moonlight. He looked almost vulnerable standing there-- and for a moment she almost pitied him.

“I’m _not going anywhere_ with you!” she shouted at his boldness, her voice obviously loud enough to stir the sleeping infant against her chest. She internally kicked herself when a small gurgle erupted from the cocoon against her body.

Stephen’s eyes lit up at the sound and narrowed in on the source. He attempted to stretch an arm out to investigate further, “well isn’t that clever.” He glanced up again and pulled his outstretched arm back in before he was scolded once again.

“Look darlin’ if you comb with me, you’ll know no one will harm ye.” He attempted to reason with the furious redhead. What she probably didn’t realise was that she coming with him regardless of her consent. However, despite his growing impatience, Stephen had decided it would be easier to gain her cooperation as opposed to dragging her through the darkness of the woods.

“ _Yeah right,_ ” she scoffed. “ _…safe with you,_ ” she rolled her eyes to the back of her head.

“Well… look at it dis way, if you comb with me, you’ll only have one man to fear.” He flashed a half smile, “Comb now darlin, if I’d wanted ye dead, I’d have done it while I wos locked up.” He gestured for her to follow and reluctantly she followed in behind, knowing he’d already done his worst.

*

Stephen Bonnet had grown frustrated with his own constant nagging; the nagging he seemed to have to endure in order to hurry along his new travel companion. “Would ye hurry up woman, I need to be back to my ship by daybreak.”

“Well, you don’t have an eight-pound weight strapped to the front of you, now do you? She took the bait willingly and spat with anger.

“I shouldn’t think you’d let me carry him for ye, now would ye?” He laughed at his good humour.

“No.” She narrowed her eyes at his comment.

“Well then, stop your complainin,” his laugh faded out into the thick cover of the woods.

Soon they had approached the edges of the river and a large boat complete with two rowers was awaiting their apparent arrival. Bonnet reached a long leg on first, then stretched his arm out to aid Bree. She hated it-- but she accepted his hand and with delicate fingers, she placed her palm to his. His hands were rough and calloused no doubt the hands of a sailor. _No, the hands of a pirate_. The evidence of consistent grasping and holding of ropes that held sails in place.

She fell forward, ever so slightly, an auburn lock grazing the tip of his nose. He breathed her sweet scent in deeply, before she placed her palms to his chest to push herself away from his unwarranted embrace.

Moments later, they were settled and seated at the front of the large raft style boat. Aidan began to stir; small cries began breaking the silence around them. Bree cringed at the thought of having to feed him in front of the man seated next to her. “You know… there’s plenty of other places you could sit, it’s not like I’m going to jump off into a freezing cold river.”

“Not exactly certain of dat, you seem near the brink of insanity.” He met her eyes momentarily and Bree for once couldn’t argue his logic.

“Such a small cry, for such a lad.” Bonnet briefly glanced over. “What’s the matter with ‘im?”

“Hopefully nothing— but probably hungry.” Bree murmured softly as she unwrapped the cotton from around her body. The evening air hit the dampness on her skin, it was a welcomed chill. “Sorry little man, were you a bit hot in there?” She soothed and smiled at the chubby smile beneath her.

Relieved that a wet bum seemed to be the cause of his cries, she laid him atop her skirts and dug around in her bag for a fresh nappy. She kept her peripherals on Stephen the whole time, ensuring he didn’t try any funny business. Although she felt rather certain he wouldn’t, as he’d explained so vividly back in the woods.

Attempting to watch Bree’s mothering unnoticed, Stephen studied her movements carefully. She was delicate and caring, a trait he did not possess. He knew himself he was a _wicked man_ and with that knowledge, he was grateful his son had someone with grace to care for him.

He’d be a better man then his father that much he was certain. _“While you rot in the ground, I’ll raise my child to be a good person. To be nothing like you!”_

With Bree’s words echoing on repeat in his mind, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what would most certainly be a flask of Irish whiskey. Taking a gigantic swig back, he passed it over to Bree. She shook her head at him, “no thank you,” she declined.

“It’s not laced with poison, if that’s what yer worried about.”

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to. Babies can’t have alcohol.” She looked down at her situation. Not a total lie… she’d allowed herself to have plenty of drinks before, but she always tried to leave some space between them and feeding. She needed to keep her wits about her and indulging in drink was a very bad idea given her current circumstance. Plus, sharing a drink with her violator seemed poor form.

“I wouldn’t put poisoning past you though.” She replied sourly.

“Suit yourself den,” he took another swig, “So, where was it that you were plannin’ on headin?” he glanced back over.

“Scotland, if you must know.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“I have family there.”

“You’re from der?” he raised a brow.

“My father is a Highlander; my mother is English. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Christ woman, a sure recipe for disaster, bet they fight like cats’ and dogs,” he snickered at his own joke before turning his attention back to their conversation. “Where in Scotland, were you wantin’ to go?”

“Inverness.”

“What if I take ye? I’ll be leavin’ first light to head to Newfoundland, but after that I’d planned on heading up that way… Trade and such.”

“No. I’d have to be dead to go anywhere with you and even then, I’d put up a fight.” She hissed, shuffling uncomfortably before starting again. “Newfoundland…. I doubt very much that you have business with fish.”

“Are you implyin’ that I plan to smouggle samethin’ else?” He raised a brow, “you’d be a daft woman, travellin’ alone.” He hissed, furrowing his brow at her stubbornness.

“You mean... Just like _last time?_ ” She bit back; her eyes met his in a piercing stare. He noticed they were glazed over. Despite the lack of lighting surrounding them it was still painfully obvious they were unshed tears. “I think you’re a dastardly man, _Steven Bonnet_ — and that smuggling is the pettiest of crimes that you commit.”

_Touché._

After that the pair remained silent the rest of the way down the river. He’d have to try again.

**A/N AND A BOOK SPOILER: For those of you who haven’t read the “Outlander” books, the scene of Brianna’s confrontation with Bonnet goes very differently from the show. He helps her escape and carries Lord Johns body out of the building. He calls her by her name and even goes so far as to touch the swell of her belly. At the end of their encounter, he informs her there is a boat waiting for him and asks her to join him. She declines him and it is then that he gives her the ruby.**


	4. “Hypocrite”

****Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon.** **

****A/N: If anyone reading this is Irish, please don’t be offended by Stephen’s dialogue. Writing in an Irish accent is REALLY hard. If you are enjoying my story, PLEASE let me know. Feedback is my inspo for more chapters. Thank you, gorgeous readers! And I hope you’re all staying safe!** **

****Warning: Violence and coarse language.** **

Chapter 4: “Hypocrite”

A few hours of floating down stream felt like years for both Stephen and Brianna. After their awkward discussion, silence had struck leaving only the sound of the river flowing and the wind blowing between the trees.

It was as if Aidan had somehow sensed that his mother didn’t want to feed him, because for the first time since his birth he slept straight through the night. For most of their journey he had been dozing in and out of sleep—completely content with the sounds of nature and his mother’s lulling heartbeat.

Out of whiskey and spoken truths raging through his head, Stephen decide to break the silence. “I thought babies were supposed to cry all de time,” he spoke casually.

“Maybe, he’s afraid if he does, you’ll throw him into the river.” Bree replied with a glare.

“… You think me an _evil_ man?” He asked humourlessly, “even a pirate has limits, and one of them is flesh n’ blood.”

Bree shook her head and scoffed at his comment, “I thought I had made that quite clear earlier on…. He may have your blood, but he’s _not yours._ ”

“Aye, yes… Yes, ye did.” He smiled and nodded, “but if that’s so, why would you go ‘bout naming the lad a good ole Irish name then? I shouldn’t think ye’d want somethin’ to be rememberin’ me by? He chuckled and glanced up, locking eyes with hers.

“How’d you kno—“, she started, _Mrs Bugs,_ “the coin.. was _you?_ ”

“O’course, who else were your expectin’ sweetheart?” He grinned, showing a set a surprisingly white teeth. “Lovely ole bat too, your maid was.”

And then a lightning bolt hit, an epiphany striking Bree right between the eyes. “You were coming back tonight… that’s why you were in the woods,” she chanted to herself.

A tightness formed in her chest, she felt trapped when she thought about how easily he had lured her into the lion’s den.

“What the hell is it that you want from us!” She shouted. “There’s nothing left for you to ‘ _pillage’_ around here and you’re _not_ taking my baby! --So, whatever it is that you want, just tell me now!”

Rising up on shaky legs, she noticed that above her, she had attracted the attention of the two male rowers. Aware of Bonnet’s reputation, they were quick to snap their eyes away from the sparring pair.

“Oh comb now woman, you said so yourself I’m a wicked man, o’ course I was coming for ye’s.—but I’ll tell ye what… you comb wit me without a big fuss and I promise you-- no harm will comb to either of yas… “ He placed a hand on each of her shoulders to command her attention. “I’m an honourable man for a pirate.” He grinned wickedly.

Bree shook him off angrily, taking a few steps back, she hesitated to ask the question pressing on her mind. A question she already knew the answer to, “and… If I don’t… ‘comb wit ye,” she mocked, “What’s my other option?”

“Well I… make you comb.” He cocked his head to one side and flashed a dimply smile.

“Fantastic choices…” She muttered to herself, “…. And how do I know you’ll keep to your word?” She cast a vulnerable look to him.

“I suppose you _don’t_ , but like you said, there’s nothing left for me to _pillage_.” He stated, while sweetly placing a red lock back to its rightful home of unruly curls atop her head.

***

 _“Pfftt.”_ He thought that she would just willingly go with him?

 _“I guess he’s evil and stupid,”_ Bree snorted as she weaved her way in and out of the bustle of bodies surrounding her. She held Aidan close to her, only turning back when she felt the distinct feeling of someone directly behind her.

The road was made of dirt and its surface was uneven, that mixed in with the swell of people pushing and shoving their way through, nearly pushed her off balance numerous times. But still, she had to keep going.

He’d only taken his eyes off her for a moment, that’s all it had taken for her to find her feet and her courage. She hadn’t glanced back for minutes; she’d just lost herself in the crowd. Seconds later, she could hear him shouting and calling furiously, _“Brianna! You daft woman!”_ His voice was angry, but there was an undertone of anxiousness mixed in with it. Which initially, had almost made her turn back around.

“ _Captain!_ There are ‘red coats’ a comin’ we _have_ to go now!” Weasley proclaimed, as he waved for Bonnet to come towards the ship.

He had been _so close; o_ nly a few minutes’ walk from boarding the ship, with Bree and his son in tow. Once they had boarded, he’d be in charge and there’d be no where for her to run off to… He’d finally be able to rest a little easier.

He’d turned his back for only a moment, by the time he’d turned back around she had apparently, _just vanished_ into thin air. The docks were always busy at that time of morning and he kicked himself that he hadn’t just bound her hands and pulled her along on a rope. _Well, that might have caused some unwanted attention._

“I’ll be back, prep the anchor, don’t let them aboard the ship no matter the cost,” Stephen dismissed Weasley’s worry with a careless wave of his hand.

***

It was astounding the things that wee Aidan appeared to be able to sleep through. Obnoxious merchants shouting desperately to acquire any sale that may have passed their way. Horns aboard ships, preparing to make their depart from the harbour. Drunken men cackling as she passed through, there seemed to be _endless colonies_ of them.

Bree had learnt the hard way, that a tavern was no place for a lady, but if she was going to organise safe passage, _well any passage_ , back to Scotland; she’d have to enter one once again.

She pinned her baby to her chest, ensuring he was merely invisible. Taking a deep breath in, she held her head high as she crossed the threshold of the old dingey pub. The room was dark, other than a few candles that were lit, there appeared to be no other light source. No windows, no other doors besides the one she had entered from. It wasn’t until she noticed the immediate provocative stares surrounding her, that it occurred to her: _this isn’t a tavern… this is a brothel._ Except this particular ‘gentleman’s club’ seemed to be lacking in the primary component, _Women_.

“Shit.”

***

“Eh, lads, you wouldn’t have by chance seen a young red ‘aired lass, frolickin ’ through ‘ere?” Bonnet stopped to question a pair of common townsfolk. Judging by their appearance, they were locals and they’d hopefully notice anything out of place.

“Aye, a bonnie lass, came through here moments ago. Odd thing she did too, went right into that gentlemen’s club she did.” The taller one answered with a snicker.

“Poor love will be in for a hidin, that tavern hasn’t seen the likes of any lassies in ‘bout six months. The men will be wantin’ some amusement.”

Releasing a frustrated growl, Bonnet ran his hands down his face and through the lengths of his hair. “WHICH, gentlemen’s club?” He asked impatiently.

“ _Lady of the seas_ , o’course-- just over der,” the man pointed. His expression proved his confusion and before he could get another word in, Bonnet was gone. Leaving Only upturned dust from the dirt road below their feet.

“Wasn’t that Cap’ain Bonnet?” The shorter man looked up to his companion, “Aye, I think it was.”

***

Brianna slowly crept in between the tables, an array of men gawked and looked her over closely. A few made suggestive grunts and leant back into their chairs, attempting anything to persuade her to more private quarters. She kept her eyes focused and tried not to make any unnecessary eye contact.

 _“Maybe I should have just stayed with the bastard, at least then there wouldn’t be any surprises.”_ She’d thought to herself.

Finally reaching the bars counter; after what felt like a literal walk on a plank, she exhaled deeply with relief. She had hoped and planned, that the bartender would have been able to direct her towards a well-known captain or person of interest. But unfortunately, her hopes were crushed at the realisation that no such person was present.

“A bar… without a bartender.” She huffed in frustration, before she turned around to head towards the exit.

“Where are you going lassie, days’ still young,” a ginormous man gazed down into her whiskey coloured eyes. Effortlessly, he held her still by her wrist, “come have a drink with us.” He flashed a disturbing smile, displaying a set of rotting teeth.

Bree noted his hair was a pit of grease, the long ends stuck to his unwashed face like cooked spaghetti to a starchy pot. A mixture of dirt and sweat coated his body and with every movement he made, the odour only oozed out further. It was revolting to say the least and she tried with all her might not to release the dry wretch that she was clenching deep within her throat.

“I actually must be going; I’m looking to board a ship this morning,” she answered firmly. Shaking her arm roughly, she hoped to ease his grip, but her struggle only made him smile crazily and his hand only closed in harder.

“You’re hurting me,” she winced from the forcefulness of it.

“Oh, come now las, surely you can spare a minute… drink won’t take long. Not often we get the likes of such a las around here.” He pulled her along crudely and her heart stopped dead when they passed the table that he had been seated in.

“I thought you were wanting a drink,” she stuttered nervously.

Panic began to make its way through her very quickly after that. By the time they had passed the bar and were headed into the direction of an array of rooms, she felt her vision turn fuzzy. With Her arm held up nearly above her head she wretched her body as hard as she could, attempting everything to free herself from his unbreakable grip.

She glanced back when she heard the men amongst the bar cheering her potential invader on, “Aye, give ‘er a good ole’ pounding!” They cheered vigorously, “After ye, I’m next!” She’d heard and felt the vomit in her throat creep up.

“Let go of me!” she squirmed and struggled aimlessly, leaning and pulling her full weight backwards.

“ _I promise, you’ll enjoy it_ ,” he held her still with the use of his body and placed a sloppy kiss on the side of her neck. She closed the space the best she could meeting her face with her shoulder, but he was forceful and wouldn’t withdraw his embrace.

This could not be happening to her _again_. _Her baby_ , what would they do to her baby when they noticed him? No this would not happen again.

“Get off me!” She clawed ferociously at his broad form, “Disgusting!” She pushed hard enough against him this time to release herself. She ran as fast as she could back from where she came, but onlookers grabbed a hold of her and held her still.

Two of them breathed her scent in deeply,

“Smells like a pritty rose, she does.” His unpolished accent burnt into her ears.

The motions and noise mixed with the panic from his mother, caused Aidan to begin to cry, a soft and fearful wail. “She’s got a bairne!” One man informed from the side.

“Get _it_ off her then!”

“No!” Bree cried, reaching down to pinch her attacker’s skin between her teeth.

“Youch!” He looked down at his arm to see pierced skin and the resemblance of blood on her lips.

“You bloody whore!” He shouted. Livid, he swung his hand back, winding it to the point it would surely break and fall off— but it never seemed to strike back down.

Bree closed her eyes firmly shut, holding her bundle with both her arms, creating the best shield she could.

“Oh, uh… Cap’ain Bonnet.”

She opened her eyes, shocked to see none other than the infamous Captain Bonnet. He was standing behind the man that held her captive, holding a meaty arm back from crashing down onto them.

“We didn’t know she was with you.” One man spoke from the side, his voice was hesitant and small and there had been good reason for it. Stephen’s breathing was heavy, his eyes were black pinpoints, unable to break his stare on the man whose arm he’d pinned up above his head.

“I—I’m sorry cap’ain, I really didn’t know she was wit ye.” The man attempted to free his arm, but before he could pull further, Stephen had reached to his belt, released his knife and slit his throat. It was fast, clean and emotionless. Over before anyone could even process it.

Most of the men stood shocked and silent, only Bree gasped from the body that fell onto the floor with a sudden _thud_. Blood squirted from the wound, luckily just merely missing the ends of her skirts.

A spray of crimson liquid had splatter across Stephen’s face from the initial incision and he seemed to rejoice slightly when he’d felt his blade cut through his enemy’s skin. He wiped his face casually onto his sleeve, and then his blade on his victims clothing.

“Anyone else, like to provide me with sahme excuse as to why you’d be wantin’ to fahrce yourself onto dis woman?” He cocked his body sarcastically in a drunken pose.

“Ah, no cap’ain, it’s our apologies.” An accomplice mumbled, “Our apologies, mi’lady.” He didn’t dare look at her.

Bree wouldn’t have been able to acknowledge his apology even if she had wanted to. She could only stare at the fresh corpse lying dead on the floor in front of her. Her vision was so blurry and distorted. Her body was shaking frantically, even her infant’s cries couldn’t break her from her trance.

“ _Darlin”_ a voice echoed from above-- it was so muffled all she could hear was the persistent sound of ringing. “Are you hurt at all,” the voice became clearer.

Two large hands on both her shoulders shook her firmly, when she finally managed to focus her eyes, a pair of pale green ones stared straight back into hers. “We _have_ to go,” He declared, wiping the blood from her lips with rough and awkward fingers.

Finished, he pulled her a long to follow in behind him. He had initially grabbed her by the wrist to whisk her away quickly, no doubt in his mind that there’d be a trail of authorities on their tails. When he felt her still lagging behind, he reached for her hand, telling himself it was necessary to prevent suspicious attention.

***

Sometime later, nearing the harbour, Bree’s shock began to wear off and the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. “You killed him.” She ripped her hand free, “you just… killed him.”

“Yes,” Stephen answered so ‘matter of factly.’

“And I assure ye, I’ve killed for far less.” He smirked but watched her closely, the last thing he needed was for her to decide to venture off again. “I shouldn’t think you’d have pity on him,” he clarified as to whether she was angry at his actions.

“Add hypocrite to your list of horrendous traits,” she sneered from the side.

“Perhaps you should be glad that I am… or else you’d no doubt be lying flat on your back with ye skirts up swee’hart.” He smiled and reached back in to reclaim her hand, but she resisted and pulled away.

“I am NOT going with you,” she insisted, but in the pit of her stomach she knew she would. Even if by some miracle he didn’t force her. She’d play this bastards game and bend him to her will. _Hell_ , she’d manipulate him so bad that he’d take her all the way to _Craigh Na Dun_ himself. The bastard could watch her vanish before his very eyes.

“Yeh, ye are.” He grabbed her by the arm and continued to pull her along. The _Gloriana_ was within his vision now and he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight.

 _“Fine!_ ” she growled, giving one last struggle against him. “I’ll come, just don’t _touch_ me.”


	5. “The Hand that Rocks the Cradle”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon.**

**A/N: Yes… another chapter. Enjoy! Let me know what you think and where you want this story to go. Otherwise it goes wherever the wind takes it!**

**Chapter 5: “The Hand that Rocks the Cradle”**

Bree couldn’t _take it anymore, she thought they’d explode._ The bumpiness of the road accompanied _by the co_ nstant pulling of Stephen’s firm hold, had made the situation even worse. When she had finally set a foot aboard the ship, all she could think about was finding a quiet place to be alone. She _had_ to release the swell of her breasts. Feeding her baby, a drink of water and a chamber pot would be enough to make her feel like she’d reached _heaven_ itself. So, when Stephen had demanded she stay in his cabin, she surprisingly didn’t put up a fight.

Relieving her bladder and chugging back a jug of water, she snuggled down into the small and modest wooden chair in the rooms corner. She removed the front half of her gown and unlaced the front of her corset. Both were soaked straight through; she’d have to rinse both out soon, if not they’d be smelling of _sour milk_ in no time.

Her bosom was rock hard, each breast not shifting in the slightest when she’d released them from their constraints. Faint blue veins were prominent beneath the skins surface and she winced when Aidan’s mouth greedily latched on to suckle. But the relief she felt was instant.

_“You better_ be hungry enough to do both,” she mumbled softly to him. Noticing that as soon as he had created enough suction to release a ‘letdown effect,’ the other breast began to leak out in a pouring manner. She awkwardly reached for the empty jug atop the corresponding table.

She let out a crazy giggle at the situation she had somehow found herself in, “Here I am… on a pirate ship, with a newborn, milking myself _like some sort of cow,_ ” she snickered uncontrollably and wiped the few tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks.

She was unaware as to whether they were tears of hopelessness or tears of irony, “If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.” She calmed her laughter and ran delicate fingers through the fine blond locks atop of her newborns head.

She had been annoyed by the bolt on the door; too old and rusted, it wouldn’t pull shut. She’d tried repeatedly to lock herself inside the room, but her fingers were just too weak to pull the latch closed. Instead she was forced to glance back towards the cabins door every so often, ensuring she wouldn’t be interrupted in her half naked state. Not that it would have matter anyways, she’d never be able to clothe herself quickly enough, should someone have decided to storm in.

After about an hour had passed, all was still quiet. Still holding Bree’s nipple between small and parted lips, Aidan had found himself milk drunk once again. Soon, Bree herself could no longer keep her eyes open and sleep had claimed them both.

  
*

  
Stephen had planned the trip to Newfoundland, would take no longer than a couple of weeks. He’d calculated carefully; the wind, distance and possible disturbances. Completely convinced all would go smoothly. He’d travelled across the Atlantic plenty of times and since they were only making their way up the coast, it would be an easy voyage. He had his trusted first mate, Weasley and he’d noted there tended not to be many icebergs in the middle of July.

Satisfied that all was well above deck and fear had been installed to each of his crew members, he worked his way down below, ensuring the same order was being adhered to.

“Cap’ain, you better come take a look at this,” A fat and stodgy man informed apprehensively.

Bonnet rolled his eyes and furrowed a brow frustratedly. Making it blatantly obvious if this fellow wasted his time, he’d most certainly pay for it with his life.

“ _What is it?_ ” He hissed impatiently, leaning an arm onto the doors frame, he gave a brief glance into the sleeping quarters. Three men laid limply inside the confines of swinging hammocks.

“Is it _the pox?_ ” Stephen took a wary step back, “why in the devil would you draw yer captain down here!”

“ _Nay Cap’ain_ , it’s something else… Men can barely move… All sorts of red welts and such.”

“Send them overboard den, _fates sealed._ ” _Captain Bonnet_ turned around and without a second thought, bolted back up the stairs from once he’d came.

  
*

Brianna awakened to a sore neck and limp arm. The sounds of gentle cooing and the persistent swatting of little fingers appeared to have roused her. Aidan held a loose lock between his fingers and pulled playfully, “ _Ouch_ ,” she giggled at his growing strength. She slowly eased her way out of the seat and waddle her way to the rooms bed.

To her surprise, the bed was made and aside from the linens being worn, they looked for the most part, fairly clean. She Aidan across the bed and as quickly as she could, worked her way out of the confinements of her dress. She replaced her shift with one of the spares from her bag, then she cleaned herself up using the wash basin that was laid atop the cabins table. She gave her corset a quick scrub down, then made quick work of redressing herself. It wasn’t her first rodeo, so she managed the laces with little trouble.

Once she was dressed, she pulled the remainder of her curls out from the ribbon that held them in place. Her hair _cascaded out like a piece of silk_ and she closed her eyes when she felt the relief of her fingers working their way through the tenderness of her scalp.

Massaging blissfully, the small window above the rooms bed caught her attention. _Was it dusk now?_ Only the faint remainder of the sun was left. A shuffle on the bed peeled her from her confusion and she bolted over in a flash. Fearing that her ‘cheeky little bugger’ would make a getaway.

_“Hey, you--_ where do you think you’re going?” She smiled down and lifted him from under his well-fed arms. She placed a tender and loving kiss onto his nose but before she could motion again, the door abruptly swung open.

“ _Hello Darlin_ ’,” Stephen leant a lazy arm onto the door frame, he was so long, his fingers grazed the edge. “Would you like to comb out now?” he charmed with a handsome smirk.

“Oh… you mean I’m _not_ imprisoned?” Bree snapped back with a generous eye roll. She pulled Aidan onto her shoulder to pat his bottom softly.

“Not if ye promise to be a _good girl_ ,” he patronized her with a wave of his hand. _“Comb on sweet’art_ , off to the galley.”

  
*

After some over-salted meat and ridiculously hard cheese, Bree felt much sturdier on her feet. When she made it to the deck and planted herself against the front of the ship, she looked onto the horizon, hoping it would be enough to keep her meal down.

Stephen watched her from distance, trying his best to fulfil his Captainly duties— but he just couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her. It wasn’t that he was worried about the contents of her stomach spilling their way up. It was more the off chance that she despised him enough to send herself overboard. After the events that had transpired earlier that day, he thought it to be a very real possibility. Though he still held one card against her, and he held it very close to his chest. _His son, she wouldn’t do anything to harm him_ and he knew it.

“ _Cap’ain_!” Weasley hollered in a frenzy, _“more of the men have been plagued!_ ”

Bonnet’s eyes furrowed in disbelief, what a complete and total inconvenience this was. “Well den, what are ye doin’ standing around ‘ere… Send em’ overboard!”

“ _But Captain--_ If we keep sending em’ overboard we’ll lose half our crew.” Weasley weighed in, “I think we should be makin’ our way towards land, we’re nearing _Virginia_ now.”

“No,” Bonnet snapped back, then headed in the direction to where Brianna was still perched. Still green in the face, she looked up and rolled her eyes when she’d noticed his presence next to her.

“I’m sick enough,” she said almost defeatedly, “whatever it is, I just don’t care.”

“That’s what I like to hear darlin’… _submissiveness_.” He smirked, before retreating back to his pressing matters, “I need you to stay away from the men… der sick and I don’t need ye—”

“ _I don’t get sick,_ ” Bree dismissed him, “well except for sea sickness apparently.”

“Don’t be _foolish_ woman! A _Goddamn_ _plague_ has _struck_ this _ship_!”

“I don’t expect you to understand, but you can rest assure that whatever it is, I’m immune.”

Bonnet stared at her, angered green eyes pierced straight through to her core. He was beyond baffled by her dismissiveness of the situation. He wanted to reach in and shake her to her senses.

“What’s the matter with them anyway?” she looked back to him, “what are their symptoms?”

“I don’t know... fever-- red welts and such,” he began to walk away.

“… _Their teeth… are they… loose? Falling out?_ ” she pulled away from the ships side and began to follow him.

“…Why?”

“May I see them?” she asked. “--My mother is a surgeon; I might be able to help…” she pushed a little harder.

“ _Please cap’ain,_ ” Weasley had gone unnoticed, but now coaxed from afar. “We’ll lose half the crew.”

*

Stephen stood in the rooms corner; his arms crossed against his chest. This woman was mad, beyond mad, she was damn well at the brink of insanity.

On her way towards the berthing area, it had come to Brianna’s attention that although she was immune to a variety of diseases—Aidan, was not. “I need a small basket or something to put him in, I don’t want to bring him in.”

Scanning the room quickly, Weasley found and reached for a small crate with a generous sprinkle of straw across the bottom. Bree leant down and placed the smiling infant inside. Satisfied he was as safe as could be given the treacherous situation she was in, she entered the dark and filthy sleeping chambers dauntingly.

What had she expected from a group of _devious_ men? _‘The holiday inn?’_

She knelt next to the first victim and a guttural moan escaped his lips at the sight of her, “ _Plaaazzee mistress, help,_ ” He pleaded, obviously delusional with fever.

Bree cast him a sympathetic smile, then placed a caring hand to his forehead. She moved his soaked locks away from his face and noticed how young and afraid he really was. He was maybe sixteen or seventeen, too young to be away from his mother and family.

“ _Are ye an angel?_ ” His eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“No,” she comforted him once again, this time with a cool cloth against his scorching head. “Can you move your limbs at all?”

“Nah, I canna move at all.”

Bree analysed him from head to toe, his arms and chest were covered in red and swollen wounds. He had a high fever; she didn’t need a thermometer to figure that one out. But the classic tall tale sign that gave away his condition was the insides of his mouth: Overgrown gums, and wobbly teeth.

“ _Scurvy,_ ” she mumbled to herself.

“Wa?” Bonnet approached her from behind, “oh ah… _‘Sailors sickness’_ ,” she corrected herself quickly.

“He’s not contagious,” she said loud enough for all to hear, “and… it’s easily treated.”

“And how do ye know this?” Bonnet question suspiciously.

“I just do.” She glanced back down to the young boy beneath her, “What have you been eating?”

“Ale, whiskey, _Mistress_. Some meat and cheese, maybe a wee bit of grain here and there.”

Bree rolled her eyes at his classic textbook answer. For once, she didn’t need her mother’s medical advice. She remembered all too well the insights her history professor had shared on the topic of Scurvy. It had killed millions of sailors over centuries and the cure was so tediously simple.

“You. Need. To Eat. Some. Fruits and vegetables,” She mothered him firmly. “Some apples, oranges, lemons… anything like that on board?” She glanced to the cook who in turn, stared and nodded at her dumbfoundedly.

 _‘Christ Almighty, Vitamin C! It’s not even modern medicine!’_ She screamed in her head.

“You’ll feel much better, in just a couple of days, I’ll go and make you something to drink.” She reassured the young boy with a smile and a gentle hand to his cheek. “You’ll be all right.”

*

“ _Are ye a witch… or a beaton… or something else perhaps_?” Curious and a little taken aback, Stephen had followed Bree up above deck. She scoffed at his honest question and then panicked when she saw he was serious.

“Of course not, why would you think that?”

“You’re just… an odd woman.” He declared, “I don’t know if I’ll believe ye, if that boy wakes up cured tomorro’, I think you’d be a witch den.”

“So, what if I was? Why would you care? ... It would have worked in your favour and your crew will be spared.”

“Well seein’ as how you _loath_ me so, I wouldn’t want to wake up in the mornin’ to find I’ve been cursed and my _prick’s_ _fallin_ ’ off, _now_ would _I_?”

So… the bastard did have a weakness. Good ‘old fashioned’ superstitions, “Don’t you think I’d have done it already if it were that easy?” She grinned at the thought and followed Stephen down another set of stairs, that were obviously leading down into the ships cellar. “Also, I don’t think witches use fruit and vegetables for their spells,” she laughed honestly, “I think cauldrons are more their thing, aren’t they?”

“ _Aye_ , I guess _yer right_ there-- still _vengeance always_ seems to find a way.” He spoke longingly, and it forced Bree to check his face to see if his words matched his expression. His face, of course, was unreadable.

*

“Oh, _colm down now sweet’art,_ I seldom comb in ‘ere most days,” Bonnet flashed his green eyes wickedly.

Bree placed Aidan atop the bed in preparation of an inevitable sparring match. Despite her consistent protests, Stephen wouldn’t budge on the matter. She was sleeping in his cabin whether she liked it or not. “Would ye rather _sleep with the men den_?” he questioned her with a suggestive smirk.

Then, stalked into the room casually. The flickering candlelight shone against his face, causing his eyes to flash an array of different greens.

He closed in around her, boxing her into the back wall of the room. What little light there was, dimmed even further when his large frame blocked its path. She breathed anxiously when she felt her palms hit the wall behind her.

“Would you GET away from me? She collected her bravery and trudged a foot forward. She pushed her palms against the defined muscles of his chest and he chuckled and stumble backward just an inch.

“ _Oh darlin_ ’…” he continued to advance onto her.

“Don’t! Call me that!” She hissed, moving forward once again to pound the solidness of his chest.

Amused by her fury, he took her by the wrists to hold her still. He peered back down to see that her normal amber coloured eyes were dark with rage.

 _He just could help himself, he loved toying with her,_ “I’ll be back later darlin, _sweet dreams.”_ He whispered into her ear, the smell of sea salt and strong whiskey suffocated her senses and as much as she hated it, she closed her eyes and savoured it _._

“ _You better not_!” she shouted and raced in behind him. Tired of her antics, he left his cabin. A devilish laugh could be heard long after he’d made his way down the hallway. All Brianna wanted to do was run after him and deck him clean in the face. Good sense however, advised her against it.

Instead she calmed herself, poured a glass of strong whiskey and settled herself into the room. In no way could she have slept in her gown; she had to bite the bullet and take the chance. Hesitantly, she removed both it and her corset. She then glanced around, taking in the rest of her surroundings. Surprised to see that at the base of the bed, there was now a small wooden cradle. It most certainly hadn’t been there before. To add fire to her suspicion, she noticed an array of women’s amenities atop the table that before, only had a wash basin. There was now a hairbrush made of tough bristles, a bar of soap and a few other bits and pieces, that she’d have to investigate further later.

Had he planned on there arrival and made preparations? _What was with this sick and twisted bastard?_

After feeding Aidan she made use of the cradle and placed him inside. Placing a kiss to his forehead, she ran a gentle hand against his cheek. Then she too climbed into bed and allowed herself to be taken by sleep.

*

She had awakened at an unknown time throughout the night, judging by the room’s darkness and only faint pale moonlight shining in from the small window, it had still been hours before dawn. Light crept in from the door, only a small crack at first but then blasted in and disappeared just as quickly as it had come. Heavy footsteps thudded on the floor; a large mass accompanied by sturdy boots creaked the wooden floorboards. When the footsteps stopped and shuffled awkwardly at the foot of the bed, Bree had contemplated darting up from where she laid.

Instead, she turned her head ever so slightly to stealthily inspect further. The fluorescent light from the moon shone perfectly upon his face. Stephen stood silently staring down in the cradle at the base of the bed.

At first, he had appeared angry, conflicted even, but the more Bree studied the contours and creases of his face, the more it became clear that it was something else.

He rested a giant hand against _his_ _son’s_ sleeping body, watching and feeling the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. He stood like that for minutes and Bree wondered if by some odd chance, he was doing it for the very same reason she did. She couldn’t figure out why she let him carry on… perhaps the awkwardness of calling him out on his actions?

A faint mumble could be heard, low and melodic, but she couldn’t work out the words. When he was finally finished his odd and random ritual he turned around and headed back out. Leaving Bree wondering if it had been reality or just a dream.

A/N: Fun Fact- Scurvy is a real disease and it did kill millions of sailors! Although most, would have known what it was by 1770, but most likely not known how to treat it. It’s caused by vitamin C deficiency.

*a berthing area is the sleeping quarters of a ship


	6. “The Heartbeat Lullaby”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: This chapter is long, and this story is going to be long. Really long, I think. I still have so much plot to include. I rewrote parts of this chapter so many times, because I could not get it right. SO, I really hope you guys like it! If you don’t mind, Please let me know what you think!**

Chapter 6: “The Heartbeat Lullaby”

  
The warm and inviting heat from the sun had touched Bree’s face a little past dawn. She’d eased herself out of bed wondering as to what trinket she’d find _this time_. Every morning since their departure, Brianna awoke to something randomly appearing. She never questioned it-- and he never mentioned it.

This morning’s appearance? A new and elaborate gown. The fabric made of nothing less than the finest of silk. Complete with velvet edges and what could only have been a _French lace_ trim. It was an extravagant colour of maroon and _forest green_ and when she held it against her complexion, she noticed just how well it contrasted against her auburn hair and creamy skin. He’d never asked for her forgiveness, but she soon got the feeling that he’d try and buy it.

She’d contemplated not wearing it at all, merely just hanging it in the corner _ignoring its existence all together._ \-- But like the lavender and vanilla oil that had appeared previously, it wasn’t a luxury, it was a necessity. She’d wear it just for the day, it would give her time to wash and dry her own. After that, she’d set it aside and never look at the likes of it again.

Hesitantly, she dressed herself in the thick and heavy fabric. Next, she scrubbed away at her face and neck, until her skin was a pale pink. She finished by fastening her long and curly locks to the side. Holding them in place with a matching green ribbon. She smeared a liberal amount of scented oils on pressure points and the ends of her hair. Then, taking advantage of her free reign of the ship, she exited the room with a still sleeping Aidan held closely to her chest.

*

Not long after breakfast, Bree was enjoying fresh sea air and the thawing rays of the bright and enchanting sun. She hadn’t seen Stephen that morning, but judging by his constant hovering throughout the week, he’d no doubt be making an appearance sooner, rather than later.

Possessive and overbearing behaviour had sparked small and irritating incidents throughout the week; and in its path had also ignited a justified fear in Brianna. She felt it was only a matter of time before Captain Bonnet thought about forcing himself onto her once again.

 _He’d come to them_ each night and performed his normal ritual at the foot of the bed. However, the night prior, he’d stood above what he thought to be Brianna’s sleeping form… _Just staring at her_ for what felt like hours-- And it was because of this, she felt a primal urge to protect both herself and Aidan. To her, he was an unpredictable atomic bomb, ready to blow at any minute.

So, the first chance she’d had, she’d snatched a small kitchen knife amongst the rubble in the galley. Then placed it under her pillow and prayed to God that she wouldn’t have to use it.

 _“Good mornin’ mistress,”_ a voice approached to where she was rested at the stern of the ship. Deep in thought, Bree jolted in a fright.

“I came to let ye know, there’s been a change of plans. We’ll be setting anchor today-- _Boston Massachusetts…_ by sunset mistress.” _Christ!_ He had been following her!The same bloody man from town! Complete with a filthy face and rotting teeth.

“And why is that, may I ask?”

“Cap’ain said, with the red coats on our tails, we need to… _lighten._.. our load.” He treaded carefully and began to walk back towards his rightful place in the ‘crow’s nest’.

“And _the Captain_ , where abouts is he this morning?”

“He’s out and about Mistress, I meant to be telling ye also: _Mrs Nelly_ has instructed me to let you know… should you need a break, while you tend to the men, she’d be happy to relieve ye of your motherly duties.”

“ _Mrs Nelly?_ ”

“Aye, _Weasley’s mother_ , she comes aboard the ship to help down in the galley, tends to the men’s wounds and such.”

“Oh okay-- thank you for that. I’ll take it upon myself to make her acquaintance…. And your name?” Bree motioned her hand to accentuate his answer.

“William, Mistress—William Browne.”

  
*

Taking the opportunity to make an acquaintance of someone other than stodgy and drunken fools, Bree found her way to the ship’s galley. She could only presume the short and robust woman was Mrs Nelly. Her hair was streaked through with silver and grey, but the evidence of what was once a dark shade of ebony hair, was still present. Her cheeks were flushed pink from expertly working a mound of dough. It was clear the moment she’d opened her mouth, her heritage was of English stock and of lower-class status.

“ _Mrs Nelly, I presume?_ ” Brianna bent her head in towards the distracted old woman.

“Oh! yes, love, I’ve been expectin’ ye. I’ve heard from the cap’ain you have a new babe—thought I could assist ye. I’ve raised five of my own, you know.”

“That must have kept you busy,” Brianna eased into the room, finally someone she felt a sense of comfort with. “I’m Brianna-- _Brianna Fraser_ …” she smiled warmly, “…and this—is _Aidan_.”

“What a handsome young man, he is too. Captain’s kept you both well hidden, hasn’t he? I haven’t caught a glimpse of ye all week,” She came around the wooden work bench to inspect Bree and her bundle further, “ _May I_?” She held her hands out to take Aidan into her bosom.

Bree hesitated for a moment but took the invitation and slowly eased him out of her arms and into the capable ones in front of her.

“Ohh look at that face! What Beautiful eyes he’s got.” She gushed and looked up to match mother and son. When she couldn’t, her faced creased ever so slightly. “He’s got his father’s eyes then?”

“Yes,” Bree tiptoed, not wanting to discuss the matter further. “…If you wouldn’t mind terribly, can you watch him for me for a short while. I’d like to check on _the boy—Agnes_ , he’s been feeling much better, but I’d like to see him and bring him some more drink.”

“Sure love…” She agreed, but her face said she wasn’t finished with her previous question. Brianna had quite frankly been surprised that there was someone aboard the ship, that didn’t know the captain had fathered her baby. 

“That potion you’ve been serving, seemed to have cured the men in just a couple of days. Very clever you are… what have you been puttin’ in it?”

“Lemon juice, sugar, water and some dried mint leaves.” Bree smiled as she stirred the contents of the pitcher. “— _And a dash of whiskey for the pain.”_

“That’s all?”

“Yes, what else were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, something else…” She condescended but Before she could throw an accusation, Brianna had dismissed herself and was down the hall. Apparently following the same footsteps as her mother before her.

*

  
“Good morning, _Master Robertson,_ how are you feeling this morning?” Bree smiled warmly and took a seat on the small stool next to the young man she’d been treating for a week now. She’d learnt his first name was Agnes and was just shy of turning eighteen. He’d been trying for months to return home to Scotland and had jumped at the chance of joining the crew aboard the _Gloriana_.

His eyes were a pale and piercing blue, complimented by cropped hair as dark as the ace of spades. And although still sprouting in growth, he was of strong Scottish stock.

“I’m well Mistress, appears that concoction you’ve been givin’ me, is workin’ a treat…. But the men—they’ve been saying you’re a witch…”

_Great._ And here they were about to stop and anchor in Boston of all places… Let’s stop at the very place they held witch trials _._

“You seem like an intelligent young man _Agnes_ , surely you _know I’m not_ a witch.”

“Aye, I ken, but I thought I’d puzzle it anyway.” He laughed to himself, “Mistress… I’d been meaning to ask ye… the name Fraser? …I dinna want to offend ye, but you don’t sound like you’re from the Highlands.”

“Well, my father is a Fraser, but my mother is an English lady.”

“Wa?” He laid shocked, motionless in his hammock.

“Yes, I know, crazy isn’t it. --And I’ve told you before, you may call me _Brianna._ ”

“Aye, you have Mistress.”

“ _Brianna_ ,” she pressed.

_“Thank you, Brianna,_ I feel fortunate that you have saved my life. I am in your debt.”

“No don’t be silly, no debts,” she patted his shoulder warmly. After one last smile, she pulled herself to her feet to check on the few other filled hammocks.

After scolding the rest of the men below deck about, “diet and nutrition,” Brianna hastily collected Aidan. Who upon her arrival was happily smiling and shuffling about in a similar crate he’d previously taken refuge in.

When she’d finally arrived back to the cabin; Aidan was both starving and grumpy. He began carrying on like a raving beast rooting his head back and forth demanding a long overdue meal. After laying him in his cradle she quickly slid out of her dress and began to undue the laces of her corset. Erratic fingers undid the last of the laces and she whisked the remainder of it off in one quick movement. Then, quickly she placed him back into her arms.

Once seated on the edge of the bed, she pulled a breast out from underneath her shift and placed it to his lips. He’d calmed as soon as he’d felt her warm skin against his. Greedily he drank and eased into the comfort of his mother’s bosom. Soon, his cries soon turned into only whimpers.

When he’d finally fallen asleep, she placed a finger inside his mouth to release the suction between the two of them. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw his eyes were still closed, but before she could ease herself completely off the bed, the door abruptly swung open. Carelessly, wood hit wood with a startling _‘bang,’_ Jolting both Brianna and Aidan with a fright.

“ _Did ye naht get my message!_ What in the _Christ’s name_ are ye doin? Ships in de ‘arbour now! Thought ye’d turned yourself into a ghost, everyone seems to have seen ye today but the Captain!” Stephen stomped his way in, making it nearly halfway to the bed until he noticed that Brianna’s entire engorged breast was hanging out.

“ _Can’t_ you knock!” She aimlessly blocked his eyes from her half naked flesh. Her hand was only about half the size of her bosom and apparently, she seemed to be the only one blushing. Bonnet on the other hand revealed in it and ensured he soaked up as much of the sight as possible.

“Captain _doesn’t_ _‘_ ’ave to knock _swee’hart_ ,” he smiled devilishly and continued to stalk over to where she was still seated.

“That’s right… _Gentlemen_ knock and you’re sure as hell _not_ that.” She sneered with her clothing still wide open. She used Aidan to block his view and began to make her way off the edge of the bed.

But _of course--_ Stephen stood like a solid brick wall completely blocking her path. He was just inches away from her now and with every breath he took, the smell burnt sugar and lavender flowers wafted from Bree’s perfection. It must have drove _him crazy,_ because that glint in his eye just wouldn’t seem to fade.

With the top of Brianna’s head only making way to just below his shoulder, he could see from her amber coloured orbs, to the tips of her bare toes. The glimpses that he could see of her creamy skin had been more than he’d seen that night in the tavern. Somehow this moment seemed far _more intimate_ that their _un consensual union_. He had to fight the urge to not just thrash the already loose fabric right off her body.

“If you didn’t want me _seein_ , perhaps you shouldn’t tempt me by sitting in my room bare breasted,” He spoke hoarsely. His presence in her ear and his low and commanding voice had earned him a set of heavy eyelashes. Bree gulped hard and tried everything to prevent the shivers that now covered her whole body. The man was ridiculously charismatic, but even despite this, she wouldn’t allow him to take anything else from her.

“ _C-c-can you come back in a minute,_ o-or at least turn around?” she placed a dainty hand to his chest and tried with little effort to place at least inch between their bodies. He’d somehow managed to completely close the gap between them. It was obvious when he dropped his neck down, he was hoping to steal a kiss that he thought to be inevitable.

“Do ye _really want_ me to go _darlin_ ’?” He ran a rough and blackened thumb across her lips. When he roughly swiped down across the softness of them, they followed in sync in obedience. Proving to him just how under his spell she really was.

“ _Yes,”_ she lied; a gambling man could always tell a bluff from a truth. Her hand still gently grazed the strong muscles of his chest. When he bent his head down further, indicating his next move, she closed her eyes and pushed against him harder.

“Can you _please_ just let me get dressed,” she whispered, accidentally breathing in the Irish whiskey still on his breath. “You said so yourself, we need to disembark.”

To her surprise he didn’t fight her, he only watched with a smirk of satisfaction. He’d managed to ruffle her feathers and that had been his goal since day one. The slight rose upon her cheeks was like a fire to his ego. He took a swig from his flask and watched intently as she placed Aidan into the small cradle at the foot of the bed. He’d been grizzling before but when Bree had completely placed him down that soon turned into soft cries. Once she had removed him from her bosom, she quickly covered herself and walked towards the more discrete comfort of the rooms corner.

Stephen’s attention was drawn towards the growing cries at the base of the bed. He shuffled over to the side of the cot and peered down inside. Aidan began to howl when he’d caught sight of his father, not understanding why this man wouldn’t just pick him up!

“Would ye hurry up and tend to ‘im! He’s ‘bout to choke!” He bellowed to Bree who was casually dressing in the corner.

“He’s a _baby_ , they cry _all_ the time,” Brianna strained her neck back to see Stephen’s awkwardly large hands tightly grasping the wooden edges of the cradle. “ _And-- if_ you left the room, I’d be able to!” she spat and turned back around to continue to tie her laces.

She huffed and rolled her eyes in frustration, then spoke before properly thinking, --If you’re _so_ worried, _pick him up!_ ” She glared back as a force not to be reckoned with. In no less than true twentieth century girl fashion.

Like a child being scolded, Bonnet’s face quickly softened. His lime scopes said it all: her brashness had shocked the hell out of him.

That vulnerability wore off quickly and he angrily refocused his attention back to the screaming infant. Still holding the edges of unpolished wood, he fought a war inside his own head. _Green eyes stared into green eyes like a stand-off— both knowing everything would change just as soon as their touch met._

The crying stopped immediately as soon as massive and _rough-skinned hands touched soft cotton._ His son’s wails faded out into whimpers as _captain_ _Stephen Bonnet_ pressed him against the warm and solid muscles of his chest.

Unsure how to soothe him further, Stephen didn’t speak or sway him, he just stood as still as possible. As if he were standing atop of _shattered glass._

Hearing the pleasant and abrupt silence, Bree snapped her head back around. Confused and stunned, she didn’t even bother to pull the remainder of her gown up, instead she walked towards the newly adjoined pair. She swore the theme from _‘The Twilight Zone’_ had made an appearance amongst the background.

“… _don’t know, what I did—but ‘es stopped.”_ He locked eyes with hers. She could see something written all over this face. She wasn’t certain as to what it was, but she had the feeling he’d never experienced anything like it before. The shock of knowing that there was something and someone on this earth that didn’t fear him— or f _ear his touch._ He’d been defeated by an eight-pound ball of legs and arms, there was such comedy in it.

“He likes to hear _your heart_ ,” Bree explained and placed a hand onto her baby’s back knowingly. Captain Bonnet was frankly out of his dept and for whatever the reason, she’d wanted to comfort him.

“ _De ‘eart ?_ ”

“Yeah— a _heartbeat,_ it’s like a lullaby to him --though I thought he only favoured mine.”

“’ere, take ‘im back,” he nervously gestured to remove the resting body from against him.

“…You--” She paused, “—hold him awhile longer….”

“I—I—need the break.” She breathed out and lightly pushed his hand back down. The oddest of moments it was, yet they stood like that long after the entire crew had departed onto land.

Completely losing all sense of time.

*

**_Boston Massachusetts, July 1770_**

It had been home her whole life, yet the same place was oddly foreign. Bree regret not remembering dates from inside textbooks more thoroughly. She couldn’t recall specific dates but she did remember reading a lot of violence had taken place in _1770_ _Boston_. A _massacre_ more preciously.

The American revolution during its starting point was full of horrific incidents and although the _Salem_ _Witch Trials_ had ended over a century ago and no ‘witches’ were actually burnt at the stake, (hung at ‘the gallows’ to be precise) she still felt terrified to be walking in a time and place where such ignorance could still be present.

“Probably a good time to tell ye sweet’hart, we won’t be going to Newfoundland, we’ll be headin’ to Jamaica at first light.’” Stephen broke the news before they had eventually caught up to the mass of his crew.

“What!”

“Aye, I knew you’d be furious, I was _lookin’ forward_ to it actually.”

“ _Jamaica_ is _nowhere near Scotland!_ ”

“Aye, I know,” he grinned wickedly.

Furious by the news, Brianna didn’t realise the stampede of flashes of red come barrelling towards them. “ _Halt!_ And identify your persons!” The young lieutenant commanded, “are you the crew from the vessel, _‘The Gloriana?_ ” He questioned and scanned the group accordingly.

Stephen had attempted to step forward, but Bree placed a hand on his forearm and gently gestured to him to stand back. Her eyes met his and they told him, _“let me handle it.”_

He was hesitant at first but once she’d stepped out in front the pack there was no stopping her. _“Good evening lieutenant,”_ she mimicked her mother in heritage and grace.

The young redcoat’s demeanour swayed dramatically as if enchanted by a siren. He dismounted from his horse before speaking, “oh—good evening Madame. --Forgive me, I didn’t see you there…. Perhaps you can assist me, I’m looking for Captain Stephen Bonnet, are you acquainted?”

“I am not, but we are in fact from the vessel _‘The Gloriana.’_ Captain Bonnet however is not aboard the ship. He is ill and disembarked from the journey back in Virginia… His crew is simply escorting me back to Oxfordshire… Is there something else I may assist you with?” she batted her eye lashes ever so slightly. The men of this time were so easy to manipulate, she noted.

“I suppose not… however should any of your persons see Captain Bonnet—he should be detained and surrendered over to the authorities immediately. He is a very dangerous man… _Missus’s…_ ” he swayed his hand in a gesture.

“ _Miss_ O’ Hara-- _Scarlett_ O’Hara.” She snickered internally and prayed history wouldn’t change completely from her thoughtless act. “ _Widowed,_ ” she smiled with her explanation and she swore she heard a _‘scoff’_ in the background.

“Oh, I see well I’m _enchanted_ , Miss O’Hara,” he went for her hand and like a true English gentleman he kissed his own thumb as opposed to her skin. “Please have a safe journey, should there be anything else you need, Lieutenant Thomas Smith, _at your service._ ” He gave a small bow and then regrettably departed.

_“He is a very dangerous man,”_ the words echoed in her head on repeat. Tomorrow she would be on a ship to Jamaica. She could run, _but she didn’t._

**Fun Fact: There really was a massacre in Boston in 1770, but I believe it was in May. A rebuttal against the British crown in which 5 men of ‘the new world’ were killed. The British soldiers had shot them dead, these men were unarmed other than rocks and rubble.**


	7. “The Truth is Hard to Swallow”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the ideas or characters from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: Angsty, Angsty, Angsty *Hops around room on one foot* In the spirit of Bree’s 1960s existence I was listening to Led Zeppelin while I wrote this.**

**I also just want to say, how much I appreciate the comments you guys have been leaving. They honestly give me that boost I need to keep writing and updating. I totally know where this story is going now, so please stay tuned and thank you! xx**

**Enjoy!**

**Warning: Coarse Language, Mild Violence.**

Chapter 8: “The Truth is Hard to Swallow”

Something had been ticking away in the back of Stephen Bonnet’s mind. From the very moment Brianna had stepped a foot into his prison cell, he’d felt a perpetual and agitating annoyance. It just wouldn’t give him a moments peace.

He never thought he’d ever find himself to be _a father—and a husband,_ well what father would ever allow their daughter to marry a man such as _him._ Not a Bastard but an orphan, he had little to offer a family besides riches and gold. He’d never live on land so long as his heart was still beating, he’d made that promise to himself long ago.

He was certain Brianna hated him and he preferred it that way. Hating him would mean he was still unkind and if he was unkind, that meant he wasn’t changing.

There was something oddly spectacular about the woman that stood next to him. She was bold, impetuous and cunning. Along side it she also possessed grace, beauty and refinement. All qualities that a woman should possess well beyond her years on this Earth.

“Darlin’ how ole’ are ye? I consider myself to be an excellent judge of a person, but I cahnt seem to puzzle it.” He asked the pressing question on his mind. She was a well of secrets, that he’d known from the get-go.

“Don’t _you know you should never_ ask a lady her age?”

“I thought ye’d already determined-- I’m no gentleman.”

“Yes… Well,” she sighed, “Captain Bonnet, if you _must know—I’m twenty-two._ ”

His lips parted in shock from her answer, “ _really?_ I thought you not much older than eighteen.”

“Yes, well, people age differently _where I’m from._ ”

“In Scotland?”

“I actually grew up on my Aunt Jocasta’s plantation, _Riverrun_.”

“And what about you?” she raised a brow in question, “I can see you’re not a shrivelled up old man—but since were sharing, humour me.”

_“Thirty-three darlin,_ ” he ran his hands along his belt.

“Well past eighteen and ye had no suitors?” he glanced back in suspicion.

“… _There were, yes_ … But I suppose that’s yet another thing that you’ve taken from me—isn’t it?

Stephen’s smile quickly faded, and his eyes blackened with unkindness, “ _I take what I want darlin, no matter the cost.”_ A new grin appeared on his face, cruel and merciless. “… And if what you say is true… den why would you lie for me, _Miss O’Hara_?” He ridiculed, while indulging in another swig from his flask.

He awaited her rebuttal, but it never came. They walked the rest of the way back to _Gloriana_ , with the kettle just about to boil over.

*

Brianna had laid in bed for a good couple of hours, listening to the loud cheering and clatter of drunken men. There was stomping above deck, glass shattering atop of cedar floorboards and the loud roars of excited men. She slammed her hands against the solid mattress of the bed.

“Seriously?” She huffed, wrapping the blanket from the bed around her shoulders, “Drunken old fools.”

Smoothly she exited the confines of the cabin as quietly as possible. Although, it appeared Aidan slept better through the ruckus. Slowly she crept barefoot through squeaking and echoing flooring. Very few candles were lit along the halls, limiting her vision. When she reached the ladder that lead to the top deck she hesitated and stopped cautiously. Finally, she reached the top hatch and peered out onto the deck, she wasn’t at all surprised by what she saw.

The sight could only be described as stereotypical. There were men cheering each other on through games of cards; some were singing shanties and thumping feet along to the melodies. When Bree had opened the hatch completely and entered the crowd, she’d noticed yet another all too classic sight. _Women,_ bare breasted some baring all, most engaging in some form of an old-fashioned lap dance.

When she’d caught sight of Captain Bonnet, elbows deep in quivering thighs, she turned back around quickly, hoping to remain unseen. He appeared to be in all his glory, still fully clothed with a woman of voluptuous stature sitting dutifully atop his lap. Appearing to have been whispering ‘sweet nothings’ into his ear, Bree held in the vomit she’d felt creep up into her throat. She’d never seen a prostitute in action before and it made her sick to witness it.

Large fire pits casted flickering light onto her face, she hadn’t gotten far before a fellow drunken sailor had caught sight of her, “hey lass! Don’t be shy! Come and join us!” He exclaimed, grabbing tightly the narrowness of her wrist.

“Let go of me,” she whisked her arm forcefully. When he felt her jerk away from him, he registered her anger and released her.

She stomped back to hatch and wasted no time climbing back down. She’d made it about five steps down the hall when she’d seen that Stephen was standing right behind her. His eyes were menacing, blackened irises, lips pulled thinly into a line, was enough to tell her she should run and not look back.

Large thundering boots trudged in behind her, the first room she’d come across she’d reached for the handle, hoping to retreat inside. She’d managed to open the door about halfway when Bonnet had firmly taken a hold of her by the waist. She cried out when he flipped her around to face him.

He towered over her, eclipsing all candlelight from the hall. Slowly and wordlessly he backed her into the confinements of the unknown cabin.

Without removing his eyes from hers, he slammed the door shut in one swift movement. The room wasn’t dark, she could see his face and body clearly, he was smirking, rejoicing in the fear he’d found in her eyes.

“Get off me!” She panicked and writhed against him, it only made him grip more tightly.

“What’s the matter darlin’ _did ye want to join in?... Jealous are ye”_ He closed the gap she’d created between them, and as quickly as his lips grazed the softness of hers, his face met her palm with a tooth shattering ‘ _slap.’_

He freed her from his clutch and with a smile, he wiped his cheek in the crease between forearm and bicep.

“ _Fiery_ , Miss Fraser, I _luve_ it so.” He continued to advance on her, like a lion would on a lamb.

“You think I’m jealous of a whore you’ve got upstairs?” She burst with laughter, “on the contrary Mr Bonnet, I hope you catch an incurable disease and your _cock falls off_ \-- so I _never have_ to think or worry about you _touching me again_ , _so long as I live!_ ”

“ _Oh, darlin’_ surely you don’t mean that,” he chuckled at her words. “Why don’t we stop playin’ games-- comb on and tell me what’s on ye’r mind.”

He’d never admit it, but he’d had no interest in ‘ _the whore.’_ His game of cat and mouse with Bree had set his bar higher than the likes of a woman he was likely to meet in any tavern. He hadn’t lied to Bree when he’d told her that “ _he paid for his pleasures.”_ What he hadn’t mentioned was the loneliness that came with it.

She despised him. He knew it. But they were connected. He’d been glad when he’d caught sight of Brianna, it’d given him the excuse to pursue her and now that he had her where he wanted her, she wasn’t escaping. This was their moment; their air would be broken and events that had transpired would be opened and freed of restriction.

_“On my mind_?” she squinted her eyes, “ON MY MIND?”

“You want know what’s on my mind—HE WANTS TO KNOW WHAT’S ON MY MIND?” She laughed insanely to an apparent invisible person. She hit the back wall softly and slid down in defeat. “You are on my mind. _All the time._ You have destroyed every last piece of me.” She confessed, placing her head into her lap.

“ _What you’ve done to me, has left me hollow.”_

The game wasn’t funny anymore, not that it ever had been for Brianna. Bonnet’s smile was wiped clean from his face and replacing it, was a look of fury and disbelief. Like daggers his eyes burnt into Bree’s crumbled form. Sliding a few feet forward he was standing just above her, he whisked her up by fragile forearms and shook her as if she were a toy that had been broken.

“You think you can _scorn me_ like some _common whore!_ ” he bellowed and shook some more.

Anticipating a slap, she’d felt coming, Bree knotted her eyes tightly. When it never seemed to come, she opened them to see a pair of dark ones staring back into hers.

With loose and matted wisps of hair, Stephen loosened his grip, “you’ll wed me, when we arrive in Jamaica.” He commanded, so ‘matter of factly.’

“ _I wouldn’t marry you,_ if you were the l _ast man_ on this Earth!” She spat, twisting her body angrily away from his touch.

“Oh _yes,_ you will. _My son, will not continue_ to live as some sort of bastard.” His voice was low and serious, indicating to her a tender subject.

“ _Well that’s what he is, isn’t he_? And you’ve only got _yourself_ to thank for that!” She snapped, nose nearly touching chin, her anger guided her away from her fear.

Stephen growled and released a humourless laugh from deep within his chest. The sound of insanity could only suggest that Bree had reached the end of his tether. He bounced back suddenly, roughly by the waist he pulled her to him. In vain, she fought hard, small fists pounded at his chest and shoulders. Placing a hand on either side of her face, he held her still in front of his own. He vibrated her face in his hands and expelled all his frustration in one terrifying and majestic roar.

“GAHDDAMN IT WOHMAN, YOU ARE INFURIATIN’.”

Bree blinked slowly at him, she knew she’d pushed him, he’d deserved it, he deserved more. “You’ve just shit on everything haven’t you? Ruined both his and my life. Why? So, you could get your kicks where you could?”

Her language was confusing, she was so angry she was acting out to be authentically herself. Too angry to question her secrets, he let her go before speaking.

“You hate me.” He stated, there was so question.

“Yes,” she wiped a few tears that had streamed down her face.

“But you lohve a part of me.”

“—yes.”

With his eyes still creased, Stephen ran a distressed hand down the length of his face, immediately softening the harsh lines that had represented his anger. Bree was shaking with silent sobs and at the sight, a tightening in Stephen’s chest formed. Perhaps it had been guilt that forced him to hold her.

“Don’t—” she tried to swallow the lump in her throat, “I hate you.” She wailed, “I hate you,” she repeated.

“ _I hate you.”_ She sounded so small.

“I know.” He ran his hand through her hair and forced her head into the croak of his shoulder. Angry she may have been, but she was thankful to be comforted. Even if it was the likes of him.

Her head delved up and she quickly wiped the tears from her face, “I told you I hate you, why would you hug me?”

“Bein’ hated isn’t new to me swee’hart, but dis certainly is,” he creased a cheek to form a dimple. “To ‘ate means, to care.” Bree’s eyes flashed a piercing yellow at his comment, forcing them down she hid their truths.

“I can live with you ‘atin me,” he placed a hand under her chin and forced her to look up. Before she could argue further, he placed a tender kiss on her lips. With his hands around the small of her waist he forced her to stay connected to him. Wanting her to feel a message he couldn’t put into words. _“I won’t do it again, so long as I live, I’ll never do it again.”_ She couldn’t be certain, she had to clarify _._

She pushed gently against him, using the little fight she’d still had in her. She managed to regain movement of her mouth and tongue, and she asked quickly, “you’ll _never_ do it _again._ ” She commanded but it was a question.

He pulled back to study her face closely, “I already told ye, I wouldn’t harm ye.”

“I need to hear it again… I need you to be more specific,” She wiped her lips with shaky fingers.

“I’ll not fahrce myself onto ye or allow any ‘arm to come to ye or my son, so long as I’m still breathin’.” He looked down into her eyes and waited for her reaction. Bree turned quiet, still processing his promise, she couldn’t decide what she felt or where it left her.

Soon, she felt the ground melt away from her feet and an intoxicating warmth fill her whole body. Stephen couldn’t believe it when he’d felt her dissolve into him like cotton candy in water.

Smiling into their kiss, he lifted her further off her feet. The smell of smoke and ale infused her senses, she ran her hands through ashy locks, loosening them further. “You’ll wed me den?” he asked buried in thick auburn hair.

“No, I can’t,” _she just couldn’t._

Stephen pulled back and investigated her answer further. Bree stared back into a vastness of confusion, “Fine den, _take him_ , I won’t farce you to stay ‘ere.”

With the outcome she’d wanted from day one, she watched as he stormed out of the cabin and morphed into the darkness of the hallway.


	8. “The sacrifice”

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon.

A/N: I hope you guys haven’t missed me too much! I had the hardest time with this chapter, I knew what I wanted to write but I couldn’t seem to get my words out. I hope you guys like it! And I apologise for the delay. As always if you don’t mind, please let me know what you think! Xx

Warning: Coarse Language, violence and if you are heavily religious, I probably wouldn’t read this.

Chapter 8: “The Sacrifice”

After a night spent tossing and turning, along with many tears finally shed, Brianna had made the decision she would go to Jamaica. She wasn’t sure how to deal with Stephen’s proposition once they got there-- she’d have to cross that bridge once they came to it. Drawn to him for reasons unknown, she felt in her heart she had to give him a chance to repent-- _even if he didn’t deserve it_. 

Months ago, when she’d confronted him in the prison, she’d thought offering him forgiveness was enough for her to reach the closure she’d needed. She’d been lying to herself; he’d been haunting her dreams and always a shadow in her waking life. Being with him now, was the first time she’d felt any sense of relief or consolidation. How that was possible, she didn’t understand, but every day with him she felt a little lighter.

Unaware as to how long their next voyage would be, she decided a soak in a hot bath would clear her mind and loosen achy muscles. There would be no chance of such luxuries aboard the _Gloriana,_ so a trip to the local bathhouse was in order. She knew she’d have hours to kill before the men even considered departing, so it seemed like time well spent.

The bathhouse was exactly what Bree had expected; a scattered arrangement of ‘strumpets,’ some large and some small. Various steaming baths were strewn across the room, with no interest in any privacy. She scanned the room carefully, noticing that most of the women were older and showed symptoms of _hard weather_. High pitched cackles and “unladylike language” soared through the room with absolutely no filter.

_Then, Bree noticed her, a familiar woman._ She sat stark naked on the edge of one of the tubs, a mixture of silver and brown unkept curls were plopped upon her head. Contributing to her overall plain appearance, were small dark eyes and overgrown eyebrows. Although much fuller figured than Bree, the way she carried herself proved she was proud of the body she possessed. It was undoubtedly the same woman who had taken refuge on the captain’s lap the night prior. Bree grimaced at the memory of his hands deep between this woman’s thighs.

Deciding to ignore the low morals of the women around her, she followed in the path of the other free-spirited ladies. Stripping down, she stuck a toe in, pleasantly surprised it wasn’t as hot as it looked. After slowly lowering herself down, she eased Aidan’s small kicking legs in next. His eyes lit up in excitement at the warm liquid, most likely reminding him of his time spent inside his mother’s ‘humble abode.’

A Gummy smile erupted from his chubby face, “it’s fun, isn’t it,” Bree smiled back, finding his happiness too contagious not to.

After about an hour of soaking, she finally took advantage of her situation; balancing Aidan on thin legs, she gave her hair a thorough wash, knowing that once it dried it would be as coarse as _straw._ Well it was either that or have a literal grease infestation on her head.

Although the selection of amenities was greater than on the ship, there was still no modern-day shampoo or conditioner. Although, the small jars along the edge of the quaint tub, smelt far too sweet to be made from something as simple as lye. A mixture of rose, peppermint and ylang-ylang, perhaps?

When Bree was finally satisfied, she no longer smelt like a garbage bin, she jumped out of the nearly cooled water and quickly redressed. The fabric she’d been provided upon payment, seemed to do little to dry off her soaking locks; she could tell from the stares and whispers from within the room, that hair washing wasn’t something in the norm. Eventually throwing a literal ‘towel in,’ she gave up and made the decision to head back towards the ship, dripping hair and all.

_*_

_Torrential rain fell like shrapnel into the eyes of men. Each wave that hit swayed the vessel to a state of near capsizing. Water poured in and out and with each swipe, one or two victims were taken in its path. Until only he stood waiting to fall into his fate. Something invisible, like a magnetic force, pulls him down in the darkness. It’s cold and terrifying and it must be bottomless, but there’s no way to know, because when he glances down all he sees is a pit of black abyss. The deeper he’s pulled, the further the light of the overcast sky begins to fade from his reach. Water fills his lungs, choking and suffocating-- forcing its way in. There’s no escape, this is how he’ll go, this is how he’s always known he would go._

_“Cap’ain Bonnet,”_ Spoke a voice so shrill it made his body contract to block the pain in his head.

“Cap’ain, Bonnet Sir! You can’t be lying around in the passageways, surely you know it’s not the place to be sleepin, it’s well past sunup now,” Mrs Nelly hovered above the pile of contorted arms and legs. At what point had he stumbled over and decided to set up camp against a ladder of all places?

Horizontal rays of torture fanned their way in through the cracks of the walls. Like a vampire, Stephen pointlessly blocked the bright and warm waves from hitting his face. A pained and guttural moan came past his lips at the woman’s ruthless attack. She was unbearable on the best of days and now perched above him, squawking like some type of folklore banshee, she ran the risk of her head being smashed into a wall. The woman was truly lucky she was Weasley’s mother, the old bat was touched by an angel.

“Would you get the hell out of my _face_ ye _bloody beasty_!” He swatted the air with a hand.

“ _It’s all right Mrs Nelly,_ I’ll set him straight,” a fuzzy red blob disapproved from the side. “can you please take Aidan for me; I think I’ll need two hands to sober up the captain.”

“O-o-f course dear,” The old woman stuttered, the captain was merciless, say the wrong thing and Brianna would end up dead. She didn’t dare argue, only scooped Aidan up into nurturing arms and bolted for the deck— _the one place the “vampire” wouldn’t go._

Stephen squinted bloodshot eyes to try to refocus his vision. Slowly he pulled himself up to lean against, what in his blurred vision, was a swaying passageway.

“Is this how you _always deal with rejection_?” Bree chastised him with folded arms. The man was a mess, he’d clearly slept even less than she had. His once white shirt was now stained through with the remnants of dust. The laces once strung up to his neck, were now loose, displaying to Bree what she had already suspected, strong shoulders and a ridiculously defined chest.

“Well, I don’t know swee’hart—never ‘ave I been rejected before.”

Bree ignored his smirk and took another few steps forward, standing close enough to remove the damp locks from his face. He’d obviously been sweating in his sleep, but the temperature surrounding them was comfortable, “Were you dreaming before? …Did you have a nightmare?” she spoke softly, already knowing he wouldn’t answer.

“Why would you care?” He removed her hand from his face.

“I have a gift of interpreting dreams and thoughts,” she countered with a small smile.

“And you say you’re naht a witch?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She exclaimed, with a pair of dramatic hands in the air. “This particular gift just uses logic and the study of the minds subconscious. There’s nothing sinister about it.”

“Because _darlin_ , you’re a secretive woman. –but I myself ‘ave always had an interest for rare and mysterious things… Like a _pink sapphire, ye are_.”

“I’m _not_ an ‘ _item_ to be _collected’_ ,” she sneered, she’d had enough of his volatile antics. _He could sort himself out,_ she’d decided, stomping away.

“You’ll be comin’ to Jamaica then I take it?” He shouted from behind.

“I guess _I am…_ ”

“What caused you to change your mind?”

“I never said I wouldn’t go to Jamaica… I said I wouldn’t marry you.” She turned back around to gage his reaction. His face was lenient, no doubt his head was too sore to spar back. “Unless of course what you said was to be taken as an ultimatum… then I suppose _no_ … I won’t be joining you to Jamaica.”

On long and woozy legs, Stephen patted his way against the walls to stand in front of Bree. His stare was challenging, but his wooziness suggested he wasn’t going to be a threat. Too unsteady, he couldn’t grab a hold of her. Instead he kept his hands against the walls and dropped his head down to catch her eyes with his. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something different about her normally deep and penetrating eyes. They had somehow changed to the colour of honey, obviously accentuated by the redness surrounding them. _She’d been crying_ , but why was she upset with him? Hadn’t he given her what she’d wanted?

“Normally, when der’s somethin’ I’m wantin’-- I just take it... But since I had to go on and promise ye, I wouldn’t harm ye-- I won’t be doin’ that.” He shuffled in closer and gently pushed her against the wall. He boxed her in between long and muscular arms, “I suppose I’ve got two weeks to convince you to be my wife.” His spoke into her ear, dropping his head lower to place a kiss onto her lips. A wife wasn’t something he’d thought he wanted, that was until, he thought of some other man taking it from him.

“What makes you think you’d ever be able to convince me,” she quickly turned her head away.

She was weakening, he could feel it, “Irish charm, darlin,” he smirked and hovered above her lips.

“And what makes you think _I could ever not hate you?_ ” She placed a slight hand over his mouth to stop his advances. He looked rough, maybe even as rough as he did in the prison, even despite the sweat she couldn’t smell anything but smoky firewood.

“Why would that ‘ave anything to do with it sweet’art?” He smirked, grabbing a fistful of fingers from his mouth. “I told ye, I can live wit ye hatin’ me.”

“ _You’re such a misogynist_ ,” She scoffed, knowing she’d already predicted his answer. Everything seemed to roll of this man, like water off a duck’s back.

Intertwined with her scoff was the faint sound of honest laughter. There was a small vulnerabilityin her eyes and in her voice, he leapt at the chance of taking it anywhere it would allow him to go. No matter how small it was, there was a part of Brianna that didn’t hate him, every day he seemed be able to expand on it. What Stephen had become oblivious of, was that in changing her, he was changing himself.

Without another second passing her hands were pinned beneath his. “ _You’re a beatifoel woman Brianna_ and I have a knack for acquirin’ whatever I want-- even if it doesn’t belong to me,” he spoke hoarsely in her ear. She shuttered when she felt him stay there. Releasing her hands slowly, he measured her willingness. When she didn’t push him away, he trailed curious hands up the curvatures of her body, starting with the small of her waist to the edges of her breasts.

She closed her eyes and breathed out heavily, “ _well that’s called theft_ … so I guess I’ll add that to your list.” She struggled to catch her breath, trying with little effort to pry his wandering fingers away, “ _Aren’t_ we meant to be leaving?”

“ _Aye_ , but the ship will wait for _der captain,_ ” He had her where he wanted her now, her eyelashes were heavy, her hands trembling a top of his sturdy and resilient fingers. In Bree’s mind she saw her prying them away; in reality, she was guiding them.

Bending his head in lower, Stephen claimed her lips with his; this kiss was different from what they had shared the night before, this kiss was _sensual._ He took his time softly _worshipping_ the top, bottom and corners of her parted lips. When he knew she had lost herself entirely, he trailed his hands back down her body and laced around her small and cinged-in waist. then roughly he pulled her into him.

Not anticipating the hunger in his touch, she stumbled and fell further into him. He caught her effortlessly and forced her onto floating tiptoes. With a single strike he moved ravenous lips from neck to collar bone, taking care to leave each piece of perfectly smooth flesh hot with desire. She tasted _impossibly_ _angelic_ , like the colour of her eyes she was as _sweet_ as _honey_. Leaking red curls, left a dewy glow to her skin: to _him_ she was the _definition_ of _perfection_.

“Stop,” she moaned softly, trying to pull him away from the swell of her breast, “did you _hear that… Aidan,_ I can hear him, _he’s crying._ ” Surprisingly Stephen did stop, he grizzled in annoyance but strained his head to listen and as he did Mrs Nelly came barrelling down the ladder shouting so frantically her words couldn’t be understood at first.

“Mistress! I’m sorry, I only put him down for just a moment!” she panted, “Captain, we need ye, one of the new passengers, he’s got the babe! He’ll throw him overboard!” she screeched already practically dragging the pair to follow in suit.

“WHAT?” Bree panicked; in her imagination she was already halfway up the ladder.

Stephen’s didn’t say anything, but his face had a thousand words across it. Vacant and merciless, it wouldn’t matter if his _child lived or died,_ who ever was responsible for even just the mere plot, was going to die.

*

Everything happened very fast after they had reached the main deck. There was shouting, frantic scurrying amongst the crew, it was complete and utter chaos.

“Brianna would ye wait down der,” Stephen asked, not commanded. He didn’t want her to _interfere_ … no he didn’t want her to _see_. He held her steady with two large hands placed on her shoulders. Being almost a whole foot taller than her, his sight cleared over the top of her head with no dramas. He scanned the ship closely, taking in their new surroundings. They were in fact not anchored anymore and land was now only a distant memory.

“The child is the _spawn of Satan himself_!” An insane voice bellowed, “surely you can see Captain Bonnet!... _His mother’s a witch_ —an _enchantress!_ We’ll _all die_ at sea _if_ we _don’t_ do it!” Missing his mother’s touch and terrified beyond belief, Aidan wailed uncontrollably.

“I’m afraid lad, _ye’ll be dying_ at sea _too_ den,” Stephen spoke calmly, but blackened irises and a clenched jaw suggested otherwise.

“Well actually, I tink ye’ll be dying at sea regardless.”

“ _Cap’ain, can’t_ you see… she’s a _harlot!_ …an _adulteress_!” This man spoke hysterically. _In fact_ , it was the very same man who’s burn Bree had tended to just an hour before. She should have just let Mrs Nelly pour mercury and vinegar on it, because at that surreal moment, he was standing on the port side of the ship, with _her_ small bundle dangled above treacherous water. Only one untrustworthy arm protected Aidan from his fate.

“You t’row _that baby_ in the water… and _yer fate will be worse_ than dyin,” Bonnet declared, no threat, _he meant it_. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it, this man was going to die.

“Captain, _she’s a witch!_ ” he claimed again, shifting uncomfortably when Stephen shuffled a few feet forward, “I’ll do it captain, I’m not afraid of dyin’!” Panic struck his voice, Bonnet was getting close, too close.

“Look at her, not a single blemish, scar or wound on her! She heals herself with the aid of the devil Himself! _This is the devil’s seed!”_ he glanced down at the baby in his arms, deciding how many more seconds he’d wait to throw it. “She cured my arm; the burn is _no more_. I can’t have the devil’s work coursin’ through me captain, _I just can’t._ ”

“I am not a witch you bastard! That was aloe vera, it’s a Goddamn plant! _GIVE ME_ my baby, you _psychotic son of a bitch_!” She’d tried to trudge forward, but Stephen held her tightly.

“The child is naht the spawn of Satan, you fool… – _he’s mine_ ,” he rolled his eyes from the inconvenience of the situation. “Give him to me.” He demanded with outstretched arms.

Dazed by his confession, everyone, including Brianna became silent. No one seemed to know how to react, including the insane man still dangling a hysterical infant over the ship’s edge. “But captain—that can’t be so…”

“Well, I guess, _that makes me the devil himself_ den, _doesn’t it_?” Stephen grinned and continued to advance slowly. His eyes were such a menacing black, no hint of green remaining. _He’d enjoy this._

“I’ll throw him! I swear to the Lord almighty himself; I’ll do it!” He took a step back, moving in closer to the ship’s ledge. He’d been inconsistent between his preaching, moving his arm in out of the space above the water. Now only holding Aidan by the tail of his blanket, Bree could only hold her breath. “The Lord will praise me for it… even if it is in death, I’ll be repaid for my _sacrifice_!”

_Sacrifice._

_Bree couldn’t remember much after that last word. H_ er breathing became heightened, vision became distorted and blurry. An intense ringing dominated her hearing and only certain words were clear _._

Everything was painfully slow; she’d watched her baby hang by only the pinch of his blanket. Soft and tender cries filled the empty space around them, _s_ he had tried to dive bomb towards them but felt herself heavy in Stephen’s arms. _She was painfully helpless._

Something had snapped in Stephen: it may have been the craving for blood on his hands, or the soft, petrified cries of his own flesh and blood. —Or maybe both had caused him to act the way he did, but it had been that one little word, “sacrifice” that caused him to see red.

Three powerful strides and he was in front of the insane puritan. His menacing eyes and bared teeth said it all-- _he wanted blood_ and for someone other than himself for once. In one fluid motion his dagger was taken from his belt and in a fast and pitiless strike, it was stabbing into a meaty shoulder. He quickly grabbed the cocoon of plush blankets with his free hand and watched blankly as the man before him fell to his knees with a _‘clunk’_.

“Captain, _p-please-ee_ ,” he pleaded for mercy, but the way Captain Bonnet was standing above him, made it obvious there was none to be had.

It took Brianna a moment to process everything that had happened. When time eventually sped up with her, she raced over to tend to her screaming infant, “thank you.” She spoke so gratefully that she squeaked with giddy laughter, “thank you,” she said more clearly this time, taking Aidan from Stephen’s one sturdy arm. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, he’d sacrificed one of his many shields for them, why?

“Would ye, like to know why I only stabbed ye in the shoulder?” He bent over to speak into the grovelling man’s ear, “I don’t tink you’ll be likin’ my answer.”

**A/N: for those of your who have not read the outlander books, Stephen Bonnet was nearly used as a human sacrifice. It was part of the reason he chose to live a life of a seaman. Also, very religious colonists were the founders of the “new world.” They were refered to as “puritans” meaning “pure.”**


	9. "Monsters or Souls"

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: So… how the heck is everyone? I hope you're all well and enjoy this cheeky little update!**

**xx**

Chapter 9: “Monsters or Souls”

Despite the commotion on deck, Stephen had somehow remained completely calm. “ _Stay on course—and_ take ‘im down to the cellar-- keep ‘im there until I return,” he commanded to Weasley. Obviously agitated, Weasley didn’t question him in the slightest and did as he was directed.

Brianna could hear Stephen making orders amid the background, but she couldn’t see him. She was far too involved with looking over every square inch of Aidan. She writhed the blankets off him, examining him from head to toe, “ _he’s okay… he’s okay,_ ” she chanted like a skipping record.

“ _Is he?_ ” Stephen asked, hovering above. His voice travelled down to where she was knelt, a tone of sincere worry made her eyes dance up to study his face. “Is he hurt?” He asked, eyes narrowing in as he awaited an answer.

A furrow in his brow, was enough confirmation that he was genuinely concerned. The man was a self-confessed ‘living, breathing devil,’ and he was worried about this small and defenceless baby in her arms. _“Well primal instincts really do conquer all,”_ she had concluded in her head.

“Yeah, I _think_ so—he was just really frightened.” A welcoming hand came down for her to take and for a moment, she had forgotten she’d wanted _nothing_ from him. Taking it, she allowed him to pull her up to her feet. “Why did you do that?” she asked, not even knowing if she wanted the answer.

“Why did I do what?” He defended, secretly trying to catch a glimpse of the small bundle in her arms. He’d been so busy dealing with the hostage situation previously, he hadn’t caught more than a glance of the infant that had been in his arms.

“ _Why_ did you _save_ him?... _you could have_ just let him throw him overboard, I doubt it would have made _any_ difference to your day.”

“You know _darlin_ , even de _devil_ was _wance_ an _angel_.” He chuckled and turned away, he had to hide that weakness, _the weakness written all over his face._ “I did promise ye, that I wouldn’t let any ‘arm come to ‘im and I meant it.” A small gurgle emerged from the shell of blankets and Stephen’s eyes lit up at the sound. Aidan had finally settled and stopped crying, “he’s happier now den, is he?” he asked with two newly formed dimples.

“Yeah, he regains his composure pretty fast,” she smiled down to see gums and her baby’s normal cheerful smile staring back at her. “…Do-do- y-oou want to hold him?... you know… so you can see for yourself—that… he’s not evil?” She mocked her own words.

“ _Aye_ , I would-- _but I not for dat reason_ ,” nervously he allowed Brianna to begin the transfer. When Soft and plump skin touched harsh and abrasive hands, that nervousness inside him quickly faded and turned into something else, _excitement_. Holding his son under healthy-fed arms, Stephen placed him high enough to meet his eyes, the blankets already loosened, revealed small kicking legs. A giggle escaped Aidan’s tiny lips when he caught sight of his father. Stephen found himself trying to hold in the most genuine smile he’d ever experienced.

There was no hiding behind the darkness of night or sneaking a peak when he thought no one was watching. -- He could really see him. Every fine strand of hair, reflected the light, making it look almost white in colour. His skin, pink and translucent, showed just how precious and fragile he really was. Stephen was once again, defeated by a toothless and jolly smile. _Aidan was his._

“He’s a ‘andsome lad, isn’t he?” He smiled into his identical eyes, then glanced to Brianna for agreeance.

“Yes, _he’s… perfect_ ,” She couldn’t deny it. But her voice broke with pain when she’d said it, she couldn’t argue with him, because he really was perfect-- no matter how he was conceived. That was the part she hated the most about Stephen, he’d given her the one thing she’d live, breath and die for. He had such power over her, he’d always have a piece of her, and she’d always have a piece of him. There was no escaping it.

“Cap’ain,” Weasley snuck in from the side, “I apologise for my interruption, but I was wantin’ to know… what will be doing with the passenger?”

Stephen didn’t look at him, didn’t take his eyes off the set of gums smiling on display to him, “he’ll be sleepin’ with the fishes tonight… under the keel he’ll be goin.”  


*

**Fraser’s Ridge, North Carolina, August 1 st, 1770 **

_-Mama & Da,_

_I’m sorry that I didn’t say goodbye the right way, but you need to understand I just can’t stay here. I don’t belong here; Aidan’s doesn’t belong here. I love you both more than you can ever know-- and Now having my own son, I know how much you must love me. Please don’t come after me, I want you to be together, I want you to have the life you always deserved._

_Love always,_

_your daughter_

_-Brianna-_

_\--_

“J H. Roosevelt Christ! She’s gone Jamie!”

“Christ,” he whispered under his breath, “don’t panic _Sassenach,_ we’ll find her.”

“She’s been gone for over two weeks now, but I’m starting to wonder if some of the whispers around town, might be about her.” Fergus had delivered the letter the minute Jamie and Claire had returned. Apprehensive at first, but then gaining some information from the townsfolk in Wilmington, he had gained more confidence, “there was talk of a young red-haired woman, healing some sailors aboard a ship, _The Gloriana,_ I believe. The men were calling her a witch.”

“Well that could have very well been Bree!”

“Well yes it could, but you see… if it is, she was heading to Newfoundland… With a Captain Stephen Bonnet, I must tell you Milady, Captain Bonnet has a reputation… he is not known to be the most welcoming… She could be in danger…”

“Where were they headed after Newfoundland… Scotland?” Claire asked anxiously, apparently already packing for another trip aboard.

“There was talk that the ship made port in Boston, I am unsure as to where it would be heading now, I’m sorry… Mi Lord…” he trailed off, “Sorry Milady.”

“Well, come on then, let’s not stand around here, let’s go and get our daughter.”

*

**The Atlantic Ocean, August 1 st, 1770**

It hadn’t been more than about fifteen minutes since Bree had returned to the cabin. She’d still been amid nursing when the door burst open. Honestly, the man had a blatant disregard for privacy, “do you do it on purpose?” she hissed, from the rooms chair.

“Do what, darlin?” Stephen beamed at the sight of her exposed skin, he followed in closer to catch a better preview.

“You just seem to have perfect timing, don’t you?” When it came to her modesty being unveiled, _he really did._ Unluckily for Stephen, Aidan’s head seemed to always act as a shield when it came to Brianna’s full exposure. She’d grown so accustom to it, that on this occasion she shrugged it off and casually put herself away.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” she rolled her eyes and placed Aidan into his cradle. When she turned around, he was close enough for her to smell the fresh whiskey on his breath. Fresh sea air wafted from every inch of him and when he lightly brushed her lips with his, she forgot who they both were for a moment.

 _“_ Although the sight of ye unclothed is enough of a reason for me to comb down ‘ere,” he whispered raggedly into her ear, running a hand from neck to the crease of her swollen cleavage.

“—but that’s not why you’re here.” She finished his sentence, trying hard not to shiver from his touch.

“No,” he closed his eyes and breathed her in deeply, “I t’ought you might want to know ‘bout the punishment.” A small fabrication of the truth, he’d come down for one thing and only one thing. His lips went from brushing the corners of her mouth, to her legs buckling against the side of the bed.

Two palms pressed firmly against the broadest part of his chest and he opened his eyes, “yes… I meant to ask you about that…. drowning… under the keel… please tell me you don’t mean _keel hauling_?” She smiled, using his frame as leverage to pull herself back up onto steady feet.

“Aye o’course, what sort of example as a captain, would I be settin’ if I didn’t punish him properly for his actions?” _Oh God_ , was she going to have a debate regarding ethics with an eighteenth-century pirate? Talk about a lost cause.

“You can’t just go around killing people, you know,” she sighed, running a hand down her face, “--can’t you… I don’t know… think of something else… that’s less… violent?”

“ _No._ I am the captain, I run my ship tightly… If you attempt to t’row the captain’s child overboard, that can only be punishable by death.”

_Jesus, when he put it that way._

“ _Honestly Brianna_ , I’m surprised in ye, what kind of mother would forgive a man that attempted to murder her child?” A satisfied smirk appeared on his face when silence had filled the room. Did the bastard think that would be the end of the conversation?

 _“What_ did you _just_ say to me?” She squinted in disbelief, “did you _actually_ just say that to me?” Had she heard him correctly? “You _self-righteous_ bastard! How _dare_ you!” she cannonballed into him as hard as she could, setting him off balance. Freshly washed curls splinter from every direction, when they cascade in front of her face, her appearance was every bit a match to her behaviour, _she was wild_.

“I’m the _kind_ of mother that has, and gives _unconditional love_ ,” she couldn’t help herself, she shoved him again-- _he let her_. “This is NOT about forgiveness; this is about _keeping your soul._ ” She bit her lip hard when she spoke, she would _not_ cry.

“DO YOU EVEN HAVE A SOUL _STEPHEN_ ,” she opened her palm and rose her arm to follow through with the rage welled up inside her. “WELL DO YOU,” he caught both her insane hands in one fistful. His glossy scopes spoke to her more than any of his words ever had, or could. She’d rattled him.

_Rattled, just wasn’t something that he could be._

He stepped away from her for a moment, if he hadn’t, he would have lost it and pushed her right back. Taking a calming breath, he turned back around and soared back over, “I guess not sweet’art,” he purred with a glint of menace in his eyes. When she came down from her heightened fury, she noticed just how threatening he was in that very moment.

Footsteps, although soft and slow, thundered the floorboards under his great weight. Normally pale green eyes were darkened to the colour of olives. His ashy blond hair had fallen completely around his face, only allowing glimpses of them to peer out.

“Shall I show you? A frightening brow sparked from underneath strings of hair, “…shall I show you what a monster I am?” He moved in closer.

“No, I want you to show me, that you still have one,” her voice and face were so authentically soft with compassion.

“I want you to show me, you still have a soul.”

His _darkness_ disappeared instantly; like a man that had been possessed, his eyes widened, and light crept back in. Every crease that had been on his face vanished, and astonishment promptly took its place. “Be careful sweet’art my patience has limits, and you’re testin’ them.”

“You think _I’m scared of you?_ What happens if I just _keep on_ pushing?... Are you going to smack me around a bit ‘ _captain_?’ Maybe beat me?... Or maybe you’ll just kill me and rid yourself of your mistake. I bet you never thought in a _million_ years your one night of adulterated fun would come to this.” At what point had she pushed her fear aside and decided to meet her nose with his chin?

“ _Brianna, stop,_ I am warning you.” He growled, enclosing her arms into his closed palms.

“What’s the matter can’t handle to hear the truth?”

He huffed and began to walk towards the door, she _wouldn’t_ let him. “There is nothing you could do to me, that could possibly be worse than what you have already done.”

Furious, he grabbed both her arms and quickly backed her into the wall. He stopped himself from smashing her into it, instead he slammed closed fists around her. Would she ever move past it? “I THOUGHT YOU’D FORGIVEN ME? --HAD YE NOT SAID THAT?” was he ever going to have normalcy with her? For the first time in his life he’d wished he’d done things differently.

“How can you forgive someone, when they never even wanted it?” she wiped the tears now streaming down her face. He always considered himself to be numb to all and any empathy or compassion. --But the pain in her eyes, mixed with the knowledge of knowing he’d caused it, was like looking into a mirror and seeing a monster stare right back into him.

Apparently unable to fight back, he left the cabin completely baffled as to what to do next.

*

Bree had felt so broken and lost that she couldn’t even make it to the galley for dinner that evening. She knew watching the puritan’s punishment would have destroyed any sanity she had left, so she made the decision to stay inside the confinements of the room, at least until morning.

It had been dark and silent when the cabin door eased open with an agonising ‘screech.’ It was Stephen’s ritual to come in and check on them each night, but Bree certainly hadn’t been expecting him after the heated argument they’d shared earlier. And with the moon missing that night, she only had the noise from his boots to determine where exactly he was in the room. She could see his dark outline at the base of the bed and the sounds of shuffling suggested he was tenderly tucking Aidan in.

Pussyfooting, the dark mass came out from around the bed and shuffled over to Bree’s opposite side. Bats entered her stomach when she heard the sound of hollow boots hitting the floor. The sound of his breeches sliding down his legs followed, making Bree shoot up from where she laid. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” she whisper-yelled to the invisible figure.

Remaining silent, Stephen slid into the bed and under the covers, “I’m sleepin’ in my bed tonight, wit you in it— whether ye _like_ it or _not_ ,” He whispered back. He was not sleeping in another hammock; his neck ached, he hadn’t slept properly in weeks… and there was the small matter of his confession regarding his son. His crew had been discussing the dynamics of his relationship with Bree and a vulnerably like that could not exist for a man of his position. No, he'd be sleeping in his bed tonight and Brianna would marry him when they arrived in Jamaica.

“WHAT?... I am not sleeping in here with you—”

“Look darlin’… I’m tired, I want to sleep… I won’t touch ye.”

Bree laid flat on her back completely silent, the situation just seemed to keep getting better and better. “Fine, but I swear, you so much as graze my leg and I’ll—”

“I’ll not touch ye,” he stopped her before she could finish.

She didn’t move a muscle, just laid as still as a statue. His breathing hadn’t evened out—he was still awake, and she had a question that couldn’t wait until morning. “The man… is he---” she hesitated, “is he— d-d-ead?”

“No.”

“Oh… Why not?”

He growled and slapped the firm mattress with a palm, “because—” he paused, “it will be done tomorrow.”

“Really?... that’s the only reason?”

“Brianna would ye go to sleep?” he rumbled, turning to see an invisible face.

Quieted, Bree rolled onto her side to show him her back, the vibrations of silent tears shook the bed and it broke him.

“I didn’t do it—because I knew it would please ye.” He blurted, hovering a hesitant hand above her arm. He wasn’t sure if he should comfort her or leave her to cry. Dropping his hand down awkwardly, he ensured he didn’t so much as graze her skin with a fingertip.

Moments later the vibrations stopped, and all was quiet, he rolled onto his side, to allow sleep to claim him. When his eyes began to feel heavy and his breathing became balanced, he felt small arms engulf around him. Whether she was asleep or not, he’d made head way, he could feel it.


	10. “Infested Waters”

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from "Outlander." It Belongs to Diana Gabaldon.**

**A/N: there's some history in this chapter, it has been altered slightly to accommodate my story. I do research my facts before I write them, but sometimes I can't follow history exactly. So please don't think I'm dumb.**

**Also i just wanted to say how much I appreciate you guys commenting, your feedback is amazing and it honestly inspires me to keep going, so thank you so much xx**

**Warning : Coarse Language**

**Chapter 10: "Infested Waters "**

It had been well past dawn before Brianna awoke to warm skin grazing her cheek. The weight of heavy-built arms enclosed around her-- in her _dream_ _like_ state, she'd felt secure and lost all at the same time. When Stephen squeezed her a little tighter, she felt bare skin on bare skin and her eyes widened in a panic. Drowsy eyes met the sight of his bare chest. Glancing down below the covers, she was relieved to discover that she still had her shift on. It wasn't the first time she'd simply slipped out of the top. _Had they been like that the whole night? How the hell had that happened?_

There was a frailness to Stephen asleep in the light of day, it was peaceful to watch the rise and fall of his chest. He almost always held his face in an indignant frown, but in his sleep, it seemed to soften and leave behind a childlike vulnerableness. The only sign of stress that remained, was his prominent scar from temple to ear.

He laid flat on his back, the bed sheet only covering him from Apollo belt downwards. He was _impossibly_ chiselled, years of working on ships and battling, had sculpted him as if he were made of stone. She could see every defined muscle, along with every scar and wound he'd met in his life. It was a _beautiful_ and _tragic_ sight all at the same time.

Babbling stirred from within the cradle, pulling Bree away from gawking at the naked man in bed. Crawling her way to the cot, she collected Aidan, he hadn't awakened for even one feed during the night. He would have begun to cry shortly if he didn't receive a long overdue meal.

Creeping back up the length of the bed, she arranged herself comfortably to feed her grizzly baby. Twenty minutes later, he'd had his fill, so she set him onto her side of the bed and secured him in place with a pillow along the edge. He had begun showing the signs of rolling and she didn't feel like watching an adventure onto the unforgiving wooden floor. Confident he was protected, she tiptoed in behind the faded folding screen and emptied her bladder.

Being completely parched and knowing that fresh water was barrelled only a few doors away, she whisked the pitcher from the cabin's table and hesitantly raced out of the room to fill it. She knew it would only take her a couple of minutes, Aidan was happily eating his hands and Stephen appeared to still be out cold.

*

" _Ba ba ba ba ekkrghh_ ," a mixture of chatting and the gurgling of drool, was the sounds that Stephen had awakened to. A successful night's sleep it had been too, normally plagued by nightmares, it had been the first time since he had been a boy he'd slept soundly. Intimacy of any kind was something he never indulged in, and as much as he hated it, it agreed with him.

Pulling himself up into a sitting position, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes to investigate the source, and there right next to him, laid Aidan. He smiled at his father, every inch of his face was _bright eyed and bushy tailed._

"Good morning lad," Stephen smiled down, "where is your mother?" His eyes danced around the room to find there wasn't a trace of her. Grasping underneath tiny arms, he pulled Aidan up off the bed and placed him against his chest. A massive belch blurted out from behind tiny lips and was followed by a giggle, "Well, I _beg_ yer _pardon_ ," Stephen laughed. Using the newfound muscles in his neck, Aidan wiggled and bobbled, until his head leant up enough to meet his father's eyes.

"Yer _brawny_ , aren't ye?" For just a few months old, it was a considerable effort. He had been busy soaking up his son's, every mannerism when the door swung open to Brianna. He noticed then that she had left the room in only her shift.

"—Oh, you're _awake_ , sorry I shouldn't have _just_ left him like that." She entered back into the room, conflicted by the sight before her. A part of her didn't want Stephen to enjoy a single moment with Aidan, but a maternal part of her melted at the vision of the pair snuggled up into each other. That part of her had to be growing, because instead of starting yet another fight between the two of them, she placed the full pitcher on the bedside table and remained silent.

"Ye know, walkin' around half naked, is a bad idea with a ship _full_ of men."

"Well, what can I say... I was _really_ thirsty—and perhaps chivalry is due for a comeback." She barked, guzzling back a tall glass of cool liquid. Breastfeeding made her extremely dehydrated, her mouth often felt as dry as and Egyptians sandal.

Stephen let it go for the time being, when they were married it would have to change but fighting now, wasn't going to do him any favours. "He's noisy, he is... was wreaking havoc in my ear," he chuckled, swinging long muscular legs over the edge of the bed, he slid barefoot along the wooden floor, to place Aidan inside his cradle.

"Oo-hh- my _lord_ ," Bree couldn't help the blush on her cheeks. The man was stark naked and apparently in all his glory. Not embarrassed or shy at all, he seemed to delight the redder her cheeks became.

"What's the _matter_... _darlin_ '? He teased, smiling larger the more she tried to look away.

"Would you _give_ me a break?" She shielded the sight with a vertical palm.

"No, but I'll tell ye what, I'll be fair, you can remove your garment too." He smiled wickedly, the mischievous look on his face and the way his grin reached his eyes to form crows' feet, suggested he was most definitely undressing her with his eyes.

Annoyed Bree rolled her eyes and tried to cover the sheerness of her shift. It was thin—too thin, he'd be able to see a decent outline of her curves through it. She knew there was no point in trying to dress herself, it would only provoke him further. "Here," She tossed a loose blanket from the bed to him. He caught it with his free hand but threw it back onto the bed.

He quickly dressed and as he did, watched in awe as Bree ran the thick bristled brush through her tangled locks. To Stephen, Brianna was nothing short of a mystical being. Every perfect shape and contour of her body was visible through the light and luminous fabric. Her skin was so irresistibly smooth and flawless, glowing under the warm rays of the new morning sun like a firefly deep in the night. Her stature was slight, but built to perfection. Elegant neck, and soft feminine features made up her face. He _just_ _had_ to _touch_ _her._

Slithering in close, not attempting in the slightest to hide his intentions, he stopped right behind her. With every brush stroke through Bree's auburn curls, a sweet and intoxicating smell wafted into his direction. She'd known he was there, she'd heard him creeping in closer, even still, when he gripped her waist between his hands, she gasped at the sensation. "What are you doing," she slammed the brush down onto the table.

" _Nothing_ ," he rasped, nuzzling into her neck from behind. She attempted to turn around to face him, but to keep her from moving, he enclosed her neck in entirety with one large, overpowering hand. It wasn't tight enough to hurt or be uncomfortable, but it was enough for her stop and listen. "I don't want to _keep_ fightin' with ye _Brianna_ ," he murmured into her ear. He was very convincing, the way he reduced his hold only to place hot kisses along the edges of her neck.

One hand slowly trailed from shoulder to collar bone, then finally, stopping to knead a soft and supple breast. Through the thinness of her shift she could feel the roughness of his fingers.She shuddered and breathed heavily, too heavily, " _Stop_ it," she tried not to moan. Finally, he released her from his hold, and she was able to turn around. Looking down onto her face, he noticed her cheeks were flushed a deep scarlet.

With her eyes fluttering closed, he took the opportunity to brush his lips across hers, then quickly, he slid a tongue between parted lips. Bree would never have admitted it, but she kissed him back, deeply too. Her hands found there way around his neck and then fell to his face to hold him close to her. Light stubble tickled her face and the feeling of driftwood dug into her abdomen, suggesting how heated he had become too.

Without a word said, he placed a final kiss onto her lips and vacated the room to attend responsibilities that just couldn't wait.

*

Stephen had left in such a hurry that morning that Bree hadn't even had the chance to question him on the execution that would no doubt be happening that evening. He seemed to have a knack for distracting her from pressing agendas.

When she had reached his cabin, which acted as an office, she was surprised to see that not only Weasley was present but there were also many other crew members.

"Is now a bad time?" she asked from the doors entrance.

"No, we're only discussin' the voyage—seems der is a naval ship also headin' South."

"Oh, _really_? ... _which_ ship?" interested she came in to view the map laying out on the rectangular table that everyone seemed to be so enthralled in.

" _HMB_ _Endeavour_ ," he answered, eyeing her face closely as she looked at the map. What kind of woman would be interested in sailing and navigation, ' _an odd woman,_ ' indeed.

" _Captain Cook_ ," she mumbled under her breath, noticing that when she looked up the entire room was looking at her with a craving for an explanation.

"Padron Mistress?" Weasley enquired, "Know the ship's captain, do you?"

"No, _not exactly_ \-- but I can probably tell you where he's heading, if that's helpful at all." she answered from Stephen's side, "May I inspect the map closer?" Stephen shuffled over and gestured a hand for her to take the empty space. With a facial expression of, " _please be my guest, by all means_."

" _Aust_ —" She stopped herself, before finishing, "New Holland... Down the Eastern Coast." She pointed a small finger in the exact location she knew he was heading. Captain James Cook would be arriving there in just a few short weeks if she were correct, _Botany bay_ , to be precise.

" _New Holland_ , is a wasteland, Mistress, I suspect he is headed elsewhere."

"No, not all of it—this part in here," she ran her finger across the calligraphy drawn line. "it's actually quite lush," she bit her tongue, she had to stop talking, she wasn't supposed to know any of this.

"And how _exactly_ do you know dis?" Stephen was beyond suspicious; he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"I guess... Maybe _I am a witch_?" she snorted, hoping that everyone else would find her joke funny. They did not.

The room filled with awkward silence, the idiots thought she was serious. She should have just kept her mouth shut and let them meet the bastard. "I just do, okay?... And you'd do well to stay away from him, he's not a very... hospitable man—especially considering the amount of unlawful whiskey you have on board." She raised both her brows in speculation. Who was she kidding, Captain Cook would have been a kindred spirit with Stephen.

"That's a rather large assumption to be makin, isn't it?"

"Are you not a self-confessed pirate?"

Stephen clenched his jaw then smiled, the woman was brave, he'd give her that. There was something so enchanting about her boldness, he couldn't help but admire her for it. "Comb wit me, I tink we'll be needin' a chat."

*

Stephen was ruthless in his mission, dragging Bree along by one hand, he passed each passageway searching for the most discrete location possible. Bree felt like a ' _Raggedy Anne doll'_ the way he jerked her without so much as glancing back.

" _Where_ are we going?" she asked, with a panic set into her voice.

He didn't answer, he just kept on course towards an unknown place. When they'd finally reached the stern of the ship in a dark and unkept room, he let go of her hand to bolt the door closed. With one hand he snapped the latch, leaving Bree with a pit of anxiety in her gut. Countless times, she'd tried to lock the door in Stephen's cabin... only to find that it wouldn't even budge and she'd used two hands. What the hell was he going to do to her.

"What the _hell_ are you doing, I don't have time to be fighting with you, I need to go and get Aidan." She attempted to cross his path, he stopped her with one solid arm against her chest.

"Not until we chat," his eyes looked down to her, they were dark and cold. "I want to know how ye know, what ye know—I don't think ye a witch, but I know der's somethin' else. What are ye den?"

"Nothing," she squeaked, "I'm just an _ordinary_ person," she placed a hand on his arm and attempted to push it down. He wasn't having a bar of it.

"You know tings... you shouldn't know Brianna— What- Are- Ye." He spoke firmly, he'd only accept the truth. "Not even a spy would know what ye know."

"It wouldn't matter what I told you... you wouldn't believe it. And you would be the very last person I'd ever trust with any information."

"Ye'll tell me," he ordered, there was no leniency in his tone.

"THERE IS NOTHING TO TELL."

"Aye, der is."

"Why the hell would I tell you ANYTHING?" Her normally whiskey coloured eyes were the colour of the darkest chocolate. He could tell in just that moment, she didn't have single spec of trust in him. That was the deepest of tragedies because there wasn't a thing she could have said or done, that would have altered the way he felt towards her. He was a superstitious man; acceptance of time travel wasn't as far fetched as she might have thought.

"Because I asked ye... because I'd like to know what it is that yer hidin'-- so I can detour the men from thinkin' you're some kind of _evil sorceress._ " His voice had started with some form of compassion but ended in frustration.

"What are ye... a ' _fairy_ '... a ' _nymph_ '.. _somethin_ ' _else_ '? his hands gestured in a desperate need for an answer, any explanation.

"No, of course not-- fairies don't exist," she scoffed but couldn't help but smile at his foolishness.

"Well den, what is it...? ...yer accent... yer healing and... de navigation, _no woman_ should know any of dos tings." He'd concluded for himself, he had to know. " _Christ Brianna_ \-- Even the way ye look," he eyed her body in confusion, "ye're like _no other_ _woman_."

"I have no idea, what you're talking about... and even if there were something to tell, I trust you about as far as I can throw you." She crossed her arms and scowled.

" 'ave it your way den, but when ye're burnt on a stake, it won't be my foolishness that caused it." He spat, his patience was running too thin.

"I guess you'll be hanging right beside me then... I'll _save_ you a seat." She muttered, evoking a grin on his face, the same damn one from the prison. It was as if he found her toxicity enchanting.

Leaving Bree with a new and surprising outlook, he left the room, slamming the door behind him. If the man could accept and believe in fairies—who's to say he wouldn't believe in time travel. She'd have to think of a cover story soon, he was closing in on her.

*

Hours later, Bree could hear shouting all the way down below deck. With Aidan slung over her shoulder, she inspected the noise further. On the ship's edge, hands and feet bound, stood the puritan. The crew were cheering each other on in gruesome preparation to send him overboard. Bree cringed at the thought of his fate, "Keeling hauling," was the most barbaric of maritime sentences. If he survived the plunge and being dragged underneath the ship's bottom, the lacerations he would most certainly endure, would likely be the end of him. Barnacles often grew thick and jagged along the bottoms of vessels and Bree knew that survivors often died of severe infections. No, this was cruel and could not happen.

" _Please_ don't do this," She placed a pleading hand on Stephen's forearm. Glancing from her hand to her face, it was evident he hadn't expected her presence, let alone her touch. "There's a million other punishments that are more suited to his crime."

"Is dat so? Did ye 'ave sometin' in mind did ye?" he smiled, swigging back amber liquid from his flask.

"Yeah... You could leave him in a cell alone with me, for an hour. --That would be torture enough... I could burn some sage around him, he'd probably just die of a heart—a-- " she nearly clasped both hands over her mouth to stop herself from being so damn sloppy. Shrugging her shoulders, she attempted to wipe off yet another word and medical term she shouldn't know.

"I'll tell ye what swee'hart, you give me somethin' and I'll let ye play with 'im any way you see fit." He flashed a devilishly handsome smile, leaving Bree puzzled and nervous as to what exactly he'd ask for.

"What is that you want?" she grimaced, taking all hanky-panky completely off the table before he could even mention it.

"Oh _relax_ , swee'hart, not dat... at least _not ye_ t," he smiled with a suggestive glint in his eyes. Why was he so bloody handsome, she internally 'bitch slapped' herself from almost swooning.

He leant into her ear, straining his neck as he did so, "I want to know what it is dat yer hiding," his voice was low and carnal. She found herself scrunching her eyes tightly to block the tremors shooting down her body. Opening her eyes, she huffed, she just didn't know how to answer him.

When she opened her mouth to speak a noise erupted amidst the background, jolting both Bree and Stephen's attention up.

"WOMEN AND CHILDREN BELOW DECK NOW!" a voice bellowed in the distance.

The execution would have to wait.  
  


**Fun Fact: for the record I say, "fun fact" in Janet's voice from "the good place."**

**Captain James Cook was a real person and an English Navigator at that. Contrary to what a lot of people think... he did not discover modern day Australia. It was actually founded by Europeans (already inhabited) in the 17th Century but it was thought to be uninhabitable, Originally names, New Holland. Sources suspect Captain Cook landed in Sydney late August 1770. Naming the Eastern Coast "New South Wales" and the particular spot "Botany Bay" on account if its lush and foreign greenery. He was not the nicest of men, as he was responsible for the slaughtering of countless aborigines. May be boring to some, but I froth history.**


	11. "Mrs Bonnet"

** Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the original characters or ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: Chapter 11, and you finally get to meet your villain… well new villain. There is a lot of scene jumping in this one, I’m sorry about that, but I had to. Anyways, hold onto your hats, this one is a wild ride! I hope you guys enjoy!**

** Warning: Coarse Language, Violence and Vulgarity **

** Chapter 11: “Mrs Bonnet” **

A thick fog had provided a blanket of cover for the enemy that evening. Smokey, grey clouds, accompanied by drunken and distracted men had allowed them to get close, way too close.

“Brianna, would ye not argue wit’ me and _just get below deck!_ ” Another canon had gone off and Stephen was not in the mood for her stubbornness. He had her by the arm and wouldn’t lighten his grip until she was with the rest of the _panicking women_. Up until their arrival in Boston, Bree and Mrs Nelly had been the only women aboard the ship. But now there was an influx, they all seemed to frolic away, much like gazelle spooked by a predator.

Bree ignored Stephen’s scolding and let it go in one ear and out the other. With a satisfied smile, she placed Aidan into Mrs Nelly’s arms, “Please take care of him for me, I’ll be down shortly,” she smiled.

Completely baffled, Stephen just stared at her with a gaping mouth, “we are under attack, dis is no place for a woman—ye’ll not like it, if I have to put you down der myself.” He warned, closing his hand around her forearm.

“I’m an _excellent_ shot,” she half-smiled, “I’ll tell you what… you pick a target and if I can’t hit it-- I’ll tell you whatever it is that you think I’m hiding… AND, I’ll go below deck.” A very tempting wager it was. Two cannons had already been fired at his ship; it would only be a matter of time before one hit. And this wasn’t just any ship, this was the “ _Revenge_ ,” a pirate ship commanded by none other than _Captain Blackbeard_ , once a friend, now a foe.

With no canons aboard they would have to wait until the ship drew nearer to be able to open fire successfully. “Well _no_ , because by da time the ship is close enough to open fire, de’ll no doubt be boarding.” They outnumbered Stephen’s crew in men and in weaponry. The cannons alone were enough to sink the ship, although Stephen knew that wasn’t the outcome they would want. They would board, pillage and quite possibly take over, he knew this because up until a few short weeks prior, it’s what he would have done. With the shoe on the other foot however, it put a pit of dread into his stomach. He simply couldn’t stand around arguing with Brianna, it was wasting more precious time.

He sighed a deep growl, then ran a hand starting from chin, right through to the ends of his hair. “One shot… and if dey get any closer, ye go below deck... it won’t _just_ be gold, dat der after…” he eyed her body up and down, as if she wouldn’t need a further explanation as to what he had been referring to. Bree tried to hide the gulp that she had to swallow.

“I doubt very much, that ye’ll be to see anyting through dis thick haze anyways.”

Weasley held the long pistol vertically in one hand, his eyes met Stephen’s before he passed it onto Bree’s. Glancing back to Weasley, Stephen gave his permission with a disgruntled eyeroll, _“I know,”_ it said.

“Not like any of ye _bastards_ can hit anyting, anyhow! You’ve all bloody missed—der’s women in _paid brawls,_ that be _battlin_ ’ _better den ye pricks_!” he bellowed, installing his authority once again.

Three or four crew members had taken a shot, each one shamefully missing. Stephen himself was more a of hand to hand combat type of fellow. He’d wait until they actually boarded to do so much as lift a finger.

In the back of Bree’s mind, she’d known there was an extremely high possibility she’d have to shoot someone, so when Stephen said, “aim for the crows’ nest,” she’d been prepared. “It’s _us_ or _them_ ,” she murmured to herself, she’d protect Aidan until she’d breathed her last breath, even then, her ghost would continue to haunt.

She approached the port side of the ship, inhaling deeply, she relaxed her shoulders and held her arms out straight. Lining a single eye through the scope she found her target, he was moving around a lot, she’d have to wait for him to steady himself. “I see him—he won’t be still though.”

Stephen snorted at how ridiculous she looked, the rifle was nearly bigger than her, small arms struggled to support the weight. Regardless, he was curious as to what she was seeing so he pulled out a spyglass and inspected. Despite the firing amongst the background she could feel an audience, so many curious eyes on her. Focusing two amber orbs, she exhaled the breath and fired the shot directly onto the man in the lookout.

_He fell like a bag of flour instantly._

“ _Christ,_ Unbelievable,” Weasley gasped, “ _nice shot mistress_!” He applauded.

Adrenaline soared through her body, distorting her vision briefly. She dropped the gun down and turned to face Stephen-- and oh boy, was he speechless. He looked at her with even more scepticism then he had previously. Peering through squinted eyes, he ticked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before speaking, “I’ll not even make a guess dis time as to what ye are… because I just don’t know.” _Yet another thing for him to throw into her face later._

“What?” She shrugged, “I have father, did you ever think that maybe he would have taught me something that he thought to be a valuable skill…EVEN for a woman?”

And then she felt it, light headiness and a queasy sensation, it had started in the pits of her gut but seconds later travelled up her throat and into mouth. She bolted forward to the edge of the ship, spilling the contents of her stomach in entirety. _Was it shock?_ She’d killed a man, something she thought never possible.

“Are ye all right,” Stephen placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I _killed_ him,” she wiped her mouth against the back of her hand, in truth she’d aimed only to wound him, she hadn’t expected the bullet to go straight between his eyes.

“Yes, and let me assure ye, he would have done far worse to you, given the chance.” Stephen knew she wasn’t built for such barbaric and ‘manly tasks.’ She was ghostly pale, dainty hands shook like she had just been pulled from the water they were floating on. “Comb ‘ere,” He sighed, taking both her hands between his, “it’ll pass,” he held them still. Pulling her under his arm between peck and bicep, he tried to stop her from shaking. Whatever she was, she didn’t have a malignant bone in her body, that much he was sure of. “Are ye ready to go below deck now, den?”

“No,” she frowned, tilting her head back so he could see. “I’m not some damsel in distress you know.”

“CAPTAIN BONNET,” a voice shouted loud enough to be heard, it echoed from the distance, travelling over the vastness of the open sea. “THAT WAS AN EXCELLENT SHOT, THAT WAS—NOW HOW ‘BOUT WE COMMENCE IN SOME TRADE BEFORE THAT NAVAL SHIP COMES CLOSIN’ IN ON BOTH OUR TAILS,” _was Blackbeard negotiating, was he afraid?_

“I ‘AVE NOTHING TO TRADE WITH YE BLACKBEARD, NOW PISS OFF.”

“I FIND THAT HARD TO BELIEVE… WE’RE CHASIN’ WHISKEY AND WHORES.” Bree hated it, but she nuzzled in closer to Stephen’s chest.

“I’D BE HAPPY TO TAKE SOME OFF YOUR HANDS… OR PERHAPS YOU’D PREFER A SUNKEN SHIP?”

They were coming aboard, Stephen knew that. He couldn’t stop it, unless he really did want his ship sunken, those were his two options.

“IS THAT YOUR _WIFE_ YER HOLDIN’ ONTO CAPTAIN BONNET?... I DIDN’T TAKE YE AS A MAN WHO’D BE TAKIN’ A WIFE. LOOKS LIKE A REAL _ANGEL_ FROM HERE, PERHAPS I’LL MEET HER LATER?”

Stephen closed his eyes annoyedly, then exhaled hot air through his nose, ‘wives’ were a real liability for a pirate, he’d decided. “Brianna… go below deck _now,_ ” he demanded, holding her by the upper arms he shook her thoroughly enough that she was listening. “Take the lad and go to the cabin, _bolt the door_.” Blackbeard would make things personal; this feud had been going on for years. There was also the clear and present fact that every other female aboard the ship didn’t hold a candle to Brianna. They would torture her beyond anything he could ever have imagined. Blackbeard had been too cold a man, for even Stephen to tolerate.

“I _can’t_ bolt the door,” she answered through clenched teeth, “it’s rusted,” glancing up, she flashed a brittle smile.

“Would YE JUST GO and LISTEN FOR WANCE.”

“Why don’t we just shoot him?” she asked as he dragged her along towards the ladder.

“We kill another one of dem… and de’ll just sink the ship… den we’re all dead… swimmin’ with the fishes… _eaten by sharks._ ”

“Fine, I’ll go,” she shook him off with a shrug, she wouldn’t fight him anymore.

*

Minutes later, Bree along with somewhere in the ballpark, of ten other women heard the loud pound of wood onto wood. A ramp had obviously been laid across, connecting the ships. Thuds of boots treaded their way across the starboard side. “They’ve board,” Mrs Nelly stated the obvious, “They’ll be comin’ down here next.”

“You’re right, _they will,_ ” The old woman’s comment snapped her into survival mode. They were down in the cellar, there wasn’t much in the way of weapons, but still, Bree searched aimlessly for anything that could be of use… and into her cleavage it would go. Next, she scanned the group of women carefully, choosing the only one that looked young enough to bear children. Taking Aidan from Mrs Nelly’s arms, she placed him into the terrified woman’s, “ _He’s yours, you got it_?” Her voice was laced with fear, but no one could hear it. “Do not tell _any_ of them, _he’s mine_.”

The group agreed with her, nodding their heads in sync. “If they do make it down here, they’ll be coming for me, so you all just keep your mouths shut okay?” she spoke firmly but lightened their fear with a warm smile, and as she did the cellar door swung up with so much force it slammed against the wall adjacent.

*

  
Stephen had kept Blackbeard preoccupied the moment he had set a foot onto his ship. Unlike modern warfare, eighteenth century muskets were timely to reload which meant the use of long swords as main source of retaliation. For these reasons, and these reasons alone, Stephen had no fear that he would get his hands on Bree- _or his son._ But like Stephen, Blackbeard was resourceful-- _calculated._

Swords clanged together, screeching and smashing with every stroke. Stephen smiled, when he saw the worry in Blackbeard’s eyes, he was tiring he could feel it. It was well known to both, that Bonnet was a better swordsman, his reputation proceeded him, he was undefeatable.

Crashing the metal straight out of his hands, Stephen reached for his dagger, ready to finish him in one brutal stabbing, but that would have been far too easy a defeat.

*  
  


“ _Ah, there ye are_ , little red ‘aired lass,” at that moment, Bree internally cursed her father for such a trademark colour of hair. “I was lookin’ for ye lovely, need ye to come wit me,” he smiled at her. His voice was calm, pleasant even-- but his eyes were something out of her nightmares. Dark enough to be classed as black, they contrasted demonically against the whites of his eyes. Even metres away, she could smell him: a mixture of sweat, liqueur and urine perhaps? Worse than any homeless man she’d ever come across. He was young, she could see that, even behind the mess of dark and unruly hair, dirt caked his face, but there wasn’t a single wrinkle behind it. Not nearly as solidly built as Stephen, but he was well-made and still much taller than her.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” she warned when he took a step towards her. She died a little inside when he yanked her by the hair, she couldn’t help it, she yelped at the pain—and when she did Aidan began to cry. His eyes met her bundle, making her stomach leap into her throat.

 _“You there_ ,” he pointed at the woman holding Bree’s precious cargo, “come with us,” he winked. Bree’s eyes met hers and they were a warning, she had better stick to her word.

*

“CAP’AIN—I GOT ‘ER,” This filthy man, seemed to rejoice in imprisoning her by the hair. He pulled her the entire way, from the cellar to the deck, each time Bree had tried to free herself or lessen his grip, he’d tugged her harder. Reaching their intended destination, he shortened the length between them and jerked her in closer, as if her red locks were reins. Clasping a mound of hair under his chin, he inhaled her deeply.

Bree couldn’t hold back the dry retch; he was positively revolting, “get your filthy hands off of me!” she placed a hand around his, hoping to pull away, or at least ease his grip on her.

“Now _love_ , what fun would that be?” he tightened, she winced.

Both crews seized their quarrelling at the announcement, Blackbeard particularly relieved by the declaration, his bartering power was now here. Bree scanned the deck for Stephen and when her eyes met his, she feared for every man aboard the ship. He was to put it bluntly, _livid._ Once piercing green irises, were now black with rage. He clenched his jaw at the sight of Bree clawing her capture’s arm to free herself. Heavy breathing pounded through his chest, even visible through the fabric of his clothes.

Blackbeard glanced at him, smiling in his victory, his grin nearly reached ear to ear. “Ah excellent work Johnny boy.” He stalked in closer towards Bree, he’d be taking her off Johnny’s hands soon enough.

“You’re a _lucky man,_ Captain Bonnet… I was right, she _truly is an angel,_ isn’t she?” He placed a soiled hand around Bree’s chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. She glowered, twisting her face out of his hand. He was even worse than his little friend holding her steady, he reeked of too many unappealing things, she couldn’t even begin to narrow down the components. It would have had to have been years since he had bathed. A large man, tall and stocky, with dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Ebony hair was long and matted, it fell well past his shoulders and wasn’t bound like a gentleman's. His name matched his face perfectly, a long dreary beard covered much of his face. He was terrifying and the thought of being taken by him terrified her beyond anything she’d ever felt before.

“I’LL SLIT YOUR THROAT AND BLEED YE DRY, YE BLOODY BASTARD!” Stephen trudged a foot forward.

“You take one more step forward-- and I’ll make sure she ISN’T so _bleeding_ pritty anymore— _to say I’d slit her throat…well that,_ would be an outmost tragedy.” He threatened gleefully, “And before you get any ideas, half my men are still aboard my ship... any of you’s so much as tread a foot forward, this ship will sink faster than you can blink.”

A tear fell from Bree’s cheek, but she choked back the tears she wanted to drown in, _“Mrs Bonnet, I presume?”_ his attention drew back to her.

“ _No, MISS Fraser_ , actually,” she bit back, still loathing him with every cell inside her body.

“Oh really? That’s _interesting--_ then I suppose you won’t mind if I take her for myself then, _will ye?_ ” he glanced back to where Stephen stood. He really did want to slit his throat; his hand was white from holding his dagger so firmly.

“ _Tell me… Miss Fraser_ … If ye’re not the captain’s wife, then what does that make ye…. _A whore_?” he ran his dagger from her bottom lip to décolletage, she closed her eyes tightly hoping to engulf her tears back into their ducts.

“No.” she opened her eyes and struggled to free herself, but once again was constrained by the lengths of her hair. He chuckled at her persistence, then moved to prey on Aidan and his temporary keeper.

“And _you…_ ” he smirked, pausing before continuing, “Oh _lovely_ — a baby… boy? …or a girl?” he asked, as if he cared.

“A boy, cap’ain,” she smiled nervously.

“and he’s yours?”

“Aye, cap’ain?”

“… How old?”

“umm…” she paused way too long, “bout three months cap’ain.”

He snickered uncontrollably and shuffled back over to Brianna, who still had a knife held against her neck.

“A mother, who doesn’t know the age of her child? .... interestin.” He stepped in closer, enough that Bree could see and smell the rot between his teeth. “Do ye know what I think?” he stared directly into Bree’s terrified eyes, “I think… he’s yours… and I think you’re lyin’ to me… _Mrs Bonnet_.” He leant in further to whisper into her ear, _“and you are right to.”_

Her glossy eyes stared into the depths of his mind, what he would do to her would be unbearable. _But_ she would not let him see her fear, he wouldn’t take that sort of power from her, no one ever would again. “Go ahead you _piece of shit,_ you think I’m afraid of you?” she spat a literal wad of spit onto his face.

He smiled, wiping it from his face, he sucked his sausage-like fingers clean, as if the wad had been something delectable. “ _Delicious_ ,” he leant in, ensuring she watched as he savoured every last drop.

“ _Pig_ ,” she grimaced and that earned her a slap straight across her cheek bone.

“She’s a _fiery one,_ Stephen, I love a lass with some fire in her.”

“LISTEN YE UNWASHED COCK, DATS ENOUGH,” Stephen trudged forward, but stopped when Bree was dragged back along to the ships edge. The man new all his secrets.

“I’ll give ye some whiskey, and I’ll split the gold wit ye in Jamaica,” he haggled, attempting to take as much emotion out of his voice as possible.” _just let her go,_ ” He’d almost pleaded and he cursed himself for it.

“Ye like this one, do ye?” he smirked, cutting the fabric of Bree’s dress from naval to bosom, it had been deep enough that her corsets laces cut into two.

“I’ll never stop pursing you, should ye ‘arm her...I promise ye that.”

There was long silence between the negotiating pair, then Blackbeard lowered the dagger from around her neck. “well, that’s a deal I can’t refuse, isn’t it?” he grinned once again boasting a mouthful of blackened teeth. “Alright men, ye heard _Captain Bonnet_ , back to the ship!” he ordered, backing himself away, with a petrified Brianna in tow. He stood with Brianna hostage, until only he stood, ready to vacate.

Stephen watched carefully, as he placed one backwards foot atop the ramp, ensuring his safety, he raised the knife to Bree’s throat once again. A small trickle of blood flowed from a fresh wound on her neck. “Ye let her go now, yer on the ramp,” Stephen looked ready to pounce at any moment. Another step back and Blackbeard lowered the dagger completely, “I’ll see ye soon _Mrs Bonnet_ ,” he breathed into her ear. Then nas fast as lightening, he threw Brianna directly into Stephen and bolted back to the safety of his ship.

It was then Bree learnt, just how dangerous a threat from Stephen Bonnet really could be.

**A/N: So… What do you guys think? is Bonnet’s protectiveness driven by feelings or possessiveness? Thoughts? 🧐  
**

**Fun fact anyone? Captain Blackbeard of the _pirate ship ‘Revenge_ ,’ was also a real person! And to boot, he was also Captain Stede Bonnet’s ally! How great is that! *slaps knee* I’m sorry guys, I dance to the beat of my own drum, thoughts on this chapter? Think things will go pear shaped in Jamaica?**


	12. “A Lesser of Two Evils”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or ideas from "Outlander." They belong to Dianna Gabaldon.**

**A/N: This is just a friendly reminder that My character development of Stephen and Brianna is based off the books and TV series. There will be differences from both, in background, storyline and behaviour. Some humour and quirkiness never did hurt anyone! I hope this doesn't disappoint anyone too much. This chapter is LONG so grab a glass of wine, a juice box, or whatever it is that tickles your fancy, because you're going to need it, it's another wild ride.**

**Warnings : Coarse Language, Violence and Mild Sexual Violence**

Chapter 12: "A Lesser of Two Evils"

Bree had stood inside an ice-cold barrel of water for far longer than she should have. She didn't care that her teeth were chattering so hard that they might crack and fall out. She didn't care that the water was so frigid she couldn't feel her toes anymore. She didn't even care that she might get hypothermia. All she cared about, was removing the smell of unwashed monster from her skin. It was repulsive, every time she caught a waft of it, she swallowed a mouthful of her own vomit.

Mrs Nelly had stood beside her, attempting repeatedly to coax her out, "Mistress, there's no smell, I promise ye, those be phantom scents you're smellin." She held out a long piece of fabric, hoping Bree would come out and dry off. "You'll catch a chill love," she tried again. Bree Ignored her each time, only to pick up the lavender bar of soap and scrub harder.

Although her encounter with the 'obscene pirate' was a now only a memory, every hair on her body stood on end when it flashed through her mind. Like the smell of maple syrup reminding her of breakfast on a Sunday morning, the smell of this monster brought back painful recollections of her past. Even if Stephen didn't smell even one percent as bad as that repulsive man had. She thought perhaps she might have been suffering from what her mother referred to as "shell shock." She hadn't returned from war, but her previous trauma seemed to have resurfaced an episode.

_"I'll see ye soon Mrs Bonnet," he purred into her ear. She could hear the desire in his voice, he wanted to drag her down that ramp with him, and for a moment, she thought he would. Nuzzling in between her neck and soft falling tendrils, he tasted her skin, humming in ecstasy as he did so._

_He'd been so lost in the moment— he'd dug the blade of his knife into her flesh, she could feel the warm seeping of blood sliding down her neck, and in between engorged cleavage. If he had forced her to take just one more step back, she was going to follow through with her plan; a broken piece of glass pressed firmly between gown and corset-- she'd use it if she had to, she was not going with him._

_He'd meant his words, she could hear it in his voice, he had a plan, he really would be seeing her soon._

_And then like an arrow, she'd been launched forward, a wave of fear and relief washing over her all at the same time. She'd hit her target; warm arms, strong arms, the arms of a lesser of two evils engulfing her into a false sense of serenity._

"I'm ready to get out now," standing up suddenly, grasping her arms with both hands, Bree contained any modesty and warmth she still had remaining.

She'd concluded that losing her innocence, a loss of hot showers, and a near-death experience—was Stephen's fault, all of it. And she was angry about it.

"Oh! Just look at ye darlin, yer shiverin' up a storm."

Bree snatched the fabric clutched in Mrs Nelly's hands, unsuccessfully she towelled herself off. Her hair was still dripping wet when she'd chucked her shift on. Next, she threw her gown over her head and reached for the doors handle.

"Mistress! Ye have no corset, no stockings or shoes, ye look like a ravin' beast!" She really did look like a mad woman, her hair was in sopping strings around her face, spikes of hair sticking out from the top of her head. But it didn't matter, because if Brianna hadn't gone to Stephen then, she would have lost her nerve.

"I don't care, can you please just watch my baby for me? I'll be back shortly. I need to have a word with the captain." She really didn't care, a lunatic she may have been, but Bree was already halfway down the hall in search of Stephen's whereabouts.

"Mistress! You're not decent! Come back!"

Who the HELL was this woman to tell her what was decent? She spun back around, to confront her on her claim. If Bree could have seen herself in that moment, she would have agreed she really was having a moment, a feral moment... she'd have to apologise later for the outrage.

"WELL, do you know what Mrs Nelly... I HATE to tell you this... but maybe I'm NOT SUCH a 'decent young woman' to have begun with? ...I'm unmarried, I have a three-month-old son who's been fathered by what can only be described as an absolute monstrosity of a human being... SO I GUESS I MATCH MY PERDICAMENT THEN, DON'T I?"

Silenced briefly by Brianna's brashness, Mrs Nelly backed away slightly. It was clear she had something lingering on her tongue to say.

“Love, if I may pay you a word of motherly advice, as I see your _ma_ isn't here." Noticing Bree's crinkled face lighten, she came in closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. " _Us_ _women_ , we may not be lions with our strength, but we possess a power over men, that they'll _never_ be able to conquer over us. Find that power within your self lovey, and _use_ _it_." She smiled and tenderly pushed a red lock behind Bree's ear. When she was finished, she turned around and returned back to Aidan, who was still out cold in Lala land.

*

The ' _Revenge_ ' had ensured they kept within close range of the Gloriana. Even closer than they had been originally, Stephen couldn't manage to get more than about a hundred yards away from them. And of course, this was Blackbeard's insurance that Captain Bonnet would uphold his promise... or potentially to fulfil something else. In truth, Stephen hadn't expected him to back down so easily, the haggle had been over before it had even begun _._

_There was still blood to be shed._

_"Allo lad, ye look as though you could use some drink to drown your sorrows in?" Taking the flask from the man's hands, Stephen grinned dimly in thanks. "What happened to yer face?" how could he have forgotten it was there? It was still pouring with blood and congealed with dirt._

_"Nothin' just did somethin' foolish," he wiped from temple to chin onto his shirt sleeve. An absolute mess he was too, covered in smoke and dirt, only the clothes on his back, were all that remained of the few possessions he'd had._

_"Aye... must have been quite foolish... --You're here on your own? Your parents?... where are they?"_

_"Gone, just like I'm about to be," had he really looked that pitiful that this man would just stop and share his drink with him?_

_"How would ye like some work aboard a ship? Ye look like a strong lad, I could use another set of hands on deck?"_

_Stephen had learnt from an early age; nothing was free, or what it seemed to be. So, when this dark, mysterious man propositioned him for a job, he was more than a little apprehensive._

_"I don't tink so but thank ye. I've never been one for the seas." This man had a way about him, he was sinister, ungentlemanly, but also friendly, charming even._

_"Ye don't really look like you've got a whole lot of other options lad." He was right, he didn't._

_"Where are ye headin, den?_ "

_"The Colonies first, then perhaps... the Bahamas... I'm a plunderer of sorts... an adventurer, if ye will. You'll have the time of your life, it'll change ye... make ye a man."_

_An innocence was still present in the young man seated on that step, but it was broken by anger and pain and with that came a desire to escape, to grow-- to adapt, to never be fooled again. "Aye alright, I'll comb wit ye, but just to the colonies, den I'll settle myself der."_

_"How old are ye chap?"_

_"Seventeen, but I'm Irish... I can hold my drink like a sailor. I've worked on ships before—since I was a boy."_

_"Well I'll bet ye can, I'm rather certain of that... I'm Captain Blackbeard of the Queen Anne's Revenge-- I'm a pirate ye see."_

"Captain, are ye busy?" Weasley couldn't help but notice the vacancy in Bonnet's eyes. "Can't find the prisoner anywhere captain, seems he's weaselled his way out, amongst Blackbeard's retreat." Apparently, Blackbeard and his crew weren't the only ones that had made a mad dash. Upon Weasley's close inspection it appeared someone else had decided to take a chance on another fate.

Well at least it was one less argument to be had with Bree.

"Dat's fine, if they don't kill 'im, I'm sure I'll come across him in Jamaica," He had more pressing matters to attend to, he'd decided. Staring out onto the open ocean, Stephen locked his spyglass with the enemy, "des bastards won't seem to give a moments rest."

"Captain, why wouldn't they just be lootin' the ship... or take Mistress Fraser... or the even just the child? Surely Blackbeard would be wantin' to make an impression? ... Somethin' for a ransom?" How Stephen still seemed to have his wits about him, was completely baffling to Weasley.

"He 'asn't a connection to a buyer in Jamaica, not a lot of good a ship full of whiskey has if ye can't sell it on for a profit, now does it?"

"Aye, I suppose not... And Mistress Fraser?"

"Blackbeard knows better den anyone, not to take what's mine." Answering bitterly, he removed his eye from the spyglass, showing Weasley just how serious he was about the matter. "He tinks her valuable... I suspect, we've not seen the last of him... The bastard will keep on us until our arrival... Clever of him really not to just take the whiskey, if we're stopped by redcoats, we'll be the ones dat are hanged."

"Ye don't think the redcoats are on our tails, do ye?"

"No, too many passengers for us to look suspicious, thanks to ' _Miss O'Hara_ ," the redcoats most likely tink me dead... Dey'll be stoppin' dem, before stoppin' us... I'll be killin' him as soon as we reach land, I reckon."

"And how is it that ye know of him captain, seems you have some unfinished business between the two of ye?"

"Dat's none of your concern, you keep on course, I want two men posted on the: port, starboard, stern and the bow. No one in the crows' nest... Anyone up der is a sittin' duck."

"clean dis mess up also, bodies will be stinkin' by morning."

*

**Wilmington, North Carolina, August 1770**

"Excuse me!" Claire was already out of breath from chasing countless persons of interest that morning. Her last resort was a gentleman she'd seen just moments before, turn a corner. Jamie had tried to reason with her, Brianna never would have travelled to this end of town. It was their final attempt and then they would head to Boston if they had to.

"Pardon me, but you wouldn't have by any chance seen a young woman a few weeks ago now... Bright red hair... beautiful... perhaps carrying a small infant? I actually have this drawing that I can show you," Claire dug around in her leather bag for the folded piece of paper. She was truly thankful that Bree had taken the intuitive and thoughtfulness to leave such an item behind for them. She was an incredibly talented artist; her sketch was near on as perfect as a photograph.

"Aye, actually I did... She was in quite the hurry, she went into that old brothel over 'here Lady of the seas," he pointed, "Poor lassie, would have coped a hidin' as well, that old tavern hasn't seen the likes of any beauties in months... There was also a gentleman lookin' for her, he followed her in, and I saw them depart afterwards." This guy obviously expected more than a pat on the back for more intel because he raised both eyebrows at Jamie for some sort of donation.

"Right... --here," the guy was lucky it was his daughter on the line, because instead of clubbing him over the head he only huffed and placed a few silver coins into the man's hand.

"Yes I remember quite well now," he smirked charmingly, "the two of them came runnin' out-- there seemed to have been some sort of brawl between the lot of them, he slit one of der throats, he did."

"Whom?" Wrinkles in claire's forehead could not be contained, "Cap'ain Bonnet o'course, Milady--then he dragged the lass into the direction of the harbour."

*

Once Stephen was satisfied that Weasley understood the gravity of the situation they were in, he decided to trek down into his 'office.' He'd hidden a rather large hoarding of ammunition: pellets and gunpowder, it was time to dig them out.

He was angry with himself for exposing a soft underbelly that he didn't even have. Blackbeard always seemed to be able to pull some sad and fearful boy from inside of him. Except this time, there was a monster within him, stronger than ever before.

He had no idea why seeing Bree terrified and bleeding, upset him so much. He'd felt helpless, angry and afraid, three things Stephen Bonnet hadn't felt in at least sixteen years. He knew what Blackbeard's intentions were, but he had never counted on having anything for him to take. Vengeance never seemed possible until now. Brianna and Aidan were his-- _no one else's,_ but that also meant that they were his to protect. _Valuable_ , riches and treasures in their purest of forms.

The only thing worse than showing that weakness he'd displayed on deck, would have been allowing Blackbeard to take what was his. What sort of pirate would allow another pirate to plunder his belongings?

_Not Stephen Bonnet._

When they reached land, he'd finish this once and for all.

A loud knock pounded on the cabin's door, causing Stephen to drop the small crate from his hands. "What de ye want now, ye bloody pricks!" He was still a dishevelled mess from battle; his hair was still bound but had become loose, his hands soiled with blood and dirt. The side of his head had a small cut that had sprinkled blood down his face and onto his shirt. When he removed the bolt from the door to open it, what he received was the last thing he had needed that day.

He hadn't even opened it the entire way, before a small and furious hand came out of nowhere. This time not a palm meeting his cheek, but a closed fist, a right hook to be exact. "I could have died, because of you! AIDAN could have DIED, BECAUSE OF YOU!" Anger momentarily subsided enough for Bree to cripple and clutch her hand in pain, was the man's entire body made of stone?

If she had died, would she have even been born? Her mother had said time was linear, but everything was so confusing now, this web was getting too tangled.

"Are ye quite finished den?" Who was this mad woman, a shell of the Brianna he'd seen a couple of hours ago. Auburn hair unkept beyond what any respected young woman of her age would allow to be seen with. Crazy eyes shimmered with unshed tears; her mind had been crippled.

"NO, I AM NOT 'QUITE FINSHED'." Cannonballing into the room, she dramatically gestured her hands as if to proceed with a feature presentation.

"Was that horrible, disgusting monster of a man, "Captain Blackbeard?" She'd been in such shock previously, it hadn't even dawned on her, just who had been holding her captive.

"Yes," he rubbed at his temples. She was about to cop a hiding... he'd been tolerable until now, hiding as much of his true nature as possible, maybe even changing because of it. But she needed to know and learn respect. She'd slapped him twice and punched him once, that was it, no more freebees.

"OF COURSE, IT WAS." She threw her hands into the air. Captain Blackbeard, also known as Edward Teach, was renowned for his reign of terrorising the West Indies and Southern Pacific. The things she would have done for a textbook.

An annoying thing it was, to know everyone else's future, but not her own.

"Brianna, I need ye to start talkin." He was losing his patience; she could hear it in his voice and the way his eyes narrowed in on her.

"What?" she laughed, "you want to know, 'what I am,' right?"

"Aye."

"Oh—But that wasn't the deal 'Captain Bonnet,' don't you remember what the deal was?" She grinned like a small child, with her hand in a cookie jar.

"Do ye 'ave _any_ idea what you've cost me woman!"

"What... a little gold, a little whiskey?" She scoffed, turning around for the door, this conversation was going nowhere, it never did.

He marched in behind her, grabbing her tightly by the elbow then spun her around to face him. "Ye've exposed a weakness, and ye don't even see it! ...What is it that ye _expect_ of me!" He shook her, making her teeth rattle.

"Oh, I see it JUST fine actually-- I just don't care! Just like you didn't give a rat's ass about how I felt when you forced my legs apart and took every last piece of my sanity, along with my virginity. You are a _despicable_ man, Stephen Bonnet. And you care for only for yourself." She couldn't stop the words, they just kept pouring out, like she'd pulled the plug on the bath.

"So, you know what...? I'll tell you what I am, because I know there isn't a single bone of fairness in your body. I'm not some mystical being, a fairy, or some other made up nonsense. I'm just— I'm just broken... I know how to heal people- because my mother is a very respected and innovative surgeon... I know about people and places- because I've grown up all over, which is the same reason I sound, the way I sound... I can fire a pistol- because my father was a Jacobite and a Scottish warrior. But let's just rest assure your mind and stick with a quaint, simple and happy anomaly, shall we? _A_ _little_ _fairy_ , it is."

Releasing her arm, Stephen stared at her for a good ten seconds. Bree seemed to be the only person to provoke a loss of words from him. His face was haunted, disturbed even.

Done, raining down a storm of fury, she waited a moment for a reply, when Stephen remained silent, she rolled her eyes and began to exit. He honestly had nothing to say to that?

When she reached for the doors handle, she felt one hand on her shoulder, the other came above her head to slam a palm against the solid wood of the door. Slowly she turned around to face him. He was furious, no one walked away from him, no one.

One arm flexed and he yanked her arm hard, pulling her along behind him. He stopped at his desk and whisked her in front of him. Placing a limb on either side of her, Stephen imprisoned Brianna between to unstoppable arms. "Do ye know what this is swee'hart?" he asked, holding a small silver coin between a pair of bug eyes. "it's nothing but a coin, but if ye flip it, it can tell ye, yer fate... yer destiny."

There were those bats once again, fluttering and spiralling around in the pit of her stomach.

There was a calming menace in Stephen, a smirk and a gleam in his eye, it just wasn't right. "I'll tell ye what, how about I give ye a little fortune tellin'?" Cocking his head to one side, he jerked her palm up from the desk, "heads ye walk out of 'ere right now, and tails... I punish ye."

"No thank you," as confidently as she could, she dislodged all eye contact and tried to lift her legs from resting against the desk.

"Oh, it wasn't a choice, sweetheart."

Bree's legs felt wobbly as she watched him toss the glittering piece of shrapnel into the air. Catching it with one hand, he smiled at her before reading, " _tails_ _darlin_ ," he grinned from his hand to her face, "unlucky for you, but lucky for me. What can I say, can't beat the luck of the Irish, can ye?"

They both glanced to each other, then to the door almost in sync.

If Bree could push him off, she'd have to make it there first. She gave it all she had, shoving him hard, her palms met his pecks with a hard blow. He chuckled and stumbled back, watching as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She'd nearly made it halfway to the door when she'd felt his hand snatch hers. He jerked her back, then slowly backed her up to his desk. Almost romantically, he spilled her out flat onto her back.

' _Almost_ _romantically_ ' that is, until she tried to get up back up. "Get off of me!" He pushed her back down so hard, she'd seen stars behind her eyes. "You're hurting me!" She cried, wincing at the tightness of his hands around her wrists. She'd prayed for someone, anyone to save her, but mostly, she'd prayed for him to save her from himself.

"Den stop fightin' me!" he shouted, "If games were what yer wantin' Brianna, then ye only needed to ask." Smiling down at her, he moved aching lips from her ear to clavicle bone, stopping once he'd reached the swell of her breasts. Initially Bree had fought him, he had scratches on his chest and face to prove it. But when he moved back up her body and darted his tongue into her mouth, she melted into him, completely loosing herself in the moment of hatred she had wanted to feel.

"You _promised_ me, you wouldn't do this to me." she mumbled through locked lips.

"A coin toss conquers all and any promises darlin," he was too hungry for her, his touch was frantic, pawing her body relentlessly. Lying flat against her now, his hand had found its way into the hole of her dress, grasping and massaging her flesh. This was going to happen, if she didn't do something, and fast.

Stephen hadn't had the intention of following through with the act, he'd only wanted the power back that he'd lost. _That_ _power_ — came from Bree’s fear.

With just one arm, he had her hands pinned above her head, she wiggled and jerked beneath him, but it was of no use. His weight was too great to even to so much as knee him in his manhood.

So, she tried the unthinkable, anything to grab his attention and pull him out of his primal state of possession. Attempting to wrap her legs around him, she jolted her hips forward, meeting her pelvis with Stephen's. He groaned in pleasure, when she gently ran her teeth against the skin of his Adam's apple.

After a nip of his neck, he released her arms in animal instinct. Placing a palm on either side of his face, she jerk his lips onto hers. She kissed him hard, passionately, devotedly. This kiss allowed him the pleasure of a single moment with her. A glimpse of something else, something that he could have had, something that he wanted desperately.

She ended it in three _soft_ kisses, two on both of his shocked and gaping lips, the final one she placed sweetly onto the corner of his mouth.

And it worked, his eyes opened widely, staring back into Bree's like a dopey school boy. He left his lustfilled state and all that remained was shock and fear. He raised himself off her, just staring at her tentatively.

Bree wiped her lips with two backward fingers, then she too, sat up from the desk. "That's what it's like to FEEL something with someone Stephen... Can you feel the difference? ...Or are you too far gone?" Her voice had broken too many times to sound angry anymore. "I could _never_ marry a man, that disrespects me, the way _you_ have."

Perhaps passion and devotion were what he was missing in his life, because after that he didn't touch her again. She'd have to remember to thank Mrs Nelly for her advice, it had well and truly paid off.

**A/N: alright guys, how is everyone feeling? I know it was a bit dramatic and Stephen's dastardly ways seemed to have made a comeback. Please give me your thoughts. Do we want to see more of wicked Stephen? Or more of redemption Stephen? Or are we balanced?**


	13. “Unadulterated Pleasures”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or ideas from "Outlander." They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N : I just wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who have commented on my work. I am overwhelmed by the quality of feedback I’ve had on this story. You guys are awesome!, love to you all! And I hope you enjoy this chapter! If there's anything you want to read more of please let me know!**

**P.S. I promise you guys some more action in the next chapter, I had the worst writer's block this week, I don't know what was going on. If you notice I haven't posted in a while, rest assure I'm not abandoning my work.**

** Chapter 13: "Unadulterated Pleasures"**

" _That's what it's like to feel something with someone, Stephen... Can you feel the difference? ...Or are you too far gone?"_

Too stunned to even speak, Stephen had watched in silence as Bree left the detentions of his office. Moments after the door had slammed shut, his frustration was taken out onto many pieces of innocent furniture. A Hefty desk was first, launching it easily from one end of the room to the next. Lumber crashed and crumbled into the wall. Stumbling furiously, he walked over to finish the job.

_One, two, three, blows_ , his fists met unyielding timber, finally freeing that tension from his body. Split and bleeding knuckles, made him refocus his attention onto something else, anything besides Bree's shattered voice on repeat inside his head. "You are a despicable man Stephen Bonnet! And you care only for yourself!" What exactly were her expectations of him? He'd never pretended to be anything but, nor had he ever tried.

What woman in her right mind, wouldn’t fear him? Even men trembled from his sneer alone. And to hold up a mirror, allowing him to see his soul, or perhaps, lack thereof, was spellbinding. She controlled her fear, like no other woman, or man.

Thirty-three years of life and Stephen had never known love, warmth, or tenderness. Those twenty odd seconds with Brianna, had been an awakening to the unadulterated pleasures that intimacy held. Sweet, beautiful intimacy. It was foreign, limitless, unconditional, and had completely stolen all his control in the situation.

To never have experienced, closeness... gentleness or vulnerability -- with anyone. How was he supposed to know the difference? --She'd somehow managed to reign in all the power, without so much as a smidgen of violence.

Comprehension had hit him hard in the face when, warm, adoring lips had touched his; so much deeper than only skin on skin. It had been like he'd always been falling down a never-ending canyon, only to be caught just before hitting the bottom. The desire to have more of it was like an addiction, he'd do whatever it took, even if that meant changing himself for her.

Stephen Bonnet would always be a pirate, a captain and a cold, merciless man—but he was also now a father. Perhaps, he wasn't too far gone, maybe there was also a lover inside those deep walls of ice.

Sure, there had been an overindulgence in 'whores,' over the years, but only to satisfy a primitive urge and nothing more. They were always terrified of him too, only touching ' _Dastardly Captain Bonnet'_ unless instructed to, and even then, it was a risk. No, it was much safer to lay as motionless as possible, not daring to so much as look him in the eye.

The encounters were always over within a few minutes, never bothering to unclothe or take his time to really enjoy it beyond a simple release. There were no passionate moments of sharing a kiss or embrace, during or after the act. Paid or not, what woman would want to do such a thing with a monster such as Stephen Bonnet?

Blackbeard had been right to be surprised by Bree's presence under Stephen's arm. He, himself had ensured Stephen would never be the kind of man to take a wife. Wives were simply a liability for a pirate, a nuisance and a burden.

So, on that very same night, Consuming far too much drink, Stephen had made the decision to return to Bree for a second round in the ring. Swigging back another mugful of whiskey, he staggered his way to the cabin. Squinting, drunken eyes, he tried to find the doors handle, head nearly touching the knob, his sight was so distorted.

But... He couldn't seem to barge in, when he heard Bree singing, humming a sweet lullaby.

" _All the leaves are brown, And the sky is grey, I've been for a walk, on a winter's day, I'd be safe and warm--If I was in L.A."_

Pressing his head against the door, he strained to hear more clearly. He'd never heard the melody before, but it was mellow, her sweet voice reminded him of a better time, a time in the past. It gave him a moment of peace that he had desperately needed that evening. Closing his eyes, he basked in the moment.

Unquestionably, Bree was a good mother, that even he wouldn't dispute. To be a father, and to be a good one, would that ever be possible? — there were no footsteps to follow in, Stephen had closed that book long ago.

" _But Daaa, I don't want to go, please, let me come wit ye! I'll do everything ye ask! ...I promise!"_

_"Grow up boy!" His father had pushed hard enough to shake the unshed tears from his eyes, "Inverness will be good for ye, put some needed 'air on yer chest. Now go!"_

_"Please Dadaí! Please... I don't want to go!"_

_"Stephen! Ye listen to me! Ye'll go and ye won't be complainin' about it... Look at ye... A proper fool yer bein', yer mother God rest her soul, would be ashamed of ye."_

_His mother, gone. Gone, before he could remember more than a few vivid memories of her. Like the way she pulled ashy curls into a ribbon when she hung the washing out. Or the way her voice sung the sweetest lullabies to him when he'd awakened from a terror in the darkness of night. And then there was that last memory, the one he hated to think about. He hadn't even been allowed to say goodbye, 'The Pox' had taken her well before her time._

Stephen couldn't recall how old he'd been that morning his father had forced him onto a ship to Inverness. All he knew was it was several years before he found a single hair on his chest.

With the memory of his mother clouding his mind, Stephen decided to stay in a moment of tranquillity and that was the sweet music of Bree's voice. Any discussions or debacles could wait until morning. He slid down the door slowly, resting his head against it, until all he could hear was silence.

*

The following morning, Bree had ventured out of hiding to find Stephen unashamedly hungover and feeling sorry for himself. He was seated at a table in the galley, face planted into his forearms. Still furious, but knowing she'd have to speak with him sooner or later, she approached him with caution.

Expecting to lose a finger at any second, she timidly poked a broad and dusty shoulder, "are you alive?" She was certain he was; she could see him breathing—it was only a tad of humour to help break the ice.

"Aye," he groaned, never lifting his face from flat lumber, "a _pity_ for ye, isn't it?"

"I can't say it would have broken my heart," she snorted, but stopped when pink eyes met hers. Was he checking to see how sincere her comment had been? He looked miserable, really, he did. Bree couldn't help but wonder if his little performance had been driven by remorse.

"Here," she rolled her eyes, for such a hard man, he really did look helpless. " _Hair of the dog,"_ she poured a small glass of whiskey from the opened bottle. "This is only part of the cure you know," giving a half smile, Bree handed it to him, "you'll also need a huge glass of water, and a nap too."

Placing Aidan into the small crate next to the table, she then seated herself onto the spare stool next to Stephen. As a peace offering, she began to pour a glass of water to help aid his obvious hangover. She hadn't finished pouring when she'd felt his hand lightly on one of her wrists.

"Did I _hurt_ ye much?" He could see the bruises; it was impossible not to. Handprints of black and blue, started from her wrists, up to her forearms. He hated it, but he felt sick at the sight. “I ‘adn’t meant to take it that far.”

Bree could feel him studying her face, trying to calculate how far he’d pushed her this time. If she let him lure her in, she’d cave instantly. Stephen had this way about him, sweet, charming and too good-looking for his own good. His low and mysterious voice and perfectly sculpted features, was only the start of it. When he wanted something, he only needed to snap his fingers and instantly it would fall into his lap.

But this time, there was such sincerity in his voice, when Bree glanced up and saw the concerned wrinkles in his forehead she knew it was genuine.

"Don't worry about it," she spat, pulling a non-existent sleeve down. If he had cared, he wouldn't have done it in the first place. "I really don't see much point in speaking about this, how about we just stay amicable, until we can part ways."

"Well no," he didn't have time; they'd be in Jamaica in ten days if the wind kept up. If she ran, Blackbeard would take her--take his son. Or perchance, what really bothered him, was that if she ran, she'd run from him, "look darlin, I was very angry."

"So was I-- I'm still SO angry with you...I think I always will be." Frowning, she protectively held her arms to her body. "...You have no idea how confusing it is to love something so much, that looks like something you hate." It was as if Bree had been pleading with him, to make her not hate him.

"Aye, I do know how angry ye were, gave me a nice blow to my head, ye did." He slid a hand across the table, grazing a fingertip onto hers. "Ye don't hit like a lass either... surprising, for such a wee thing." He smiled, hoping, and searching it would be reciprocated. All he could find was sadness and confusion.

"Obviously, not hard enough, you don't have a single scratch on you." Upon scrutiny, she'd thought there would have been a lot more damaged then what was present. The scratches that had been on his face and neck appeared to have disintegrated overnight. The black eye she had been hoping for was non-existent. Still, she was responsible for his pounding headache and that was at least somewhat pleasing.

"You know... If he wasn't your identical... I'd think I'd dreamt it all." Leaning over, she ran a hand through Aidan’s fine blonde hairs. "I will never know, how you were ever capable of making something so sweet and innocent."

Looking up, Bree met his eyes with a pair of damp ones, "I thought you were changing for us—I thought I saw something, but I was wrong, very wrong." She hadn't imagined it, Stephen had been changing, he'd just suffered from a relapse, a dark one.

Stephen wasn't sorry for fathering his son. He'd wanted him, from the moment Bree had come clean in his prison cell, he'd wanted him. But at that point in time, he hadn't cared how he'd been conceived. "Ye know... I wouldn't have let him hurt ye, either of ye." Widened eyes, searched endlessly to see if she believed him.

"It really didn't feel like you would have had a choice..."

"I'm a cunning man _sweet'art_ , escaped the hang man's noose many times... I will never let Blackbeard take anything dat's mine."

"We're not your _property_ Stephen, relationships are built on respect. Something you have none of..."

She was getting up, she'd storm off again if he didn't say something, "Wait," his voice was like a lasso, catching her and pulling her back to him.

She was curious in what he had to say, he could tell in the way her eyes widened and lightened in colour, "would ye stay and have just one drink wit me?" He could have forced her to, but he hadn't... and for that, she obliged him. With unsteady fingers she took the glass from his hand, chugging it back in one swift nip.

Still coughing from the potency of the liquid, she began to speak, it was then or never. "I need you to never do that to me again." Why was it so hard to say, "I can't go through it again, any of it. It will kill me. And I.. I-I have to be alive for my son, I just have to be." She was welling up, there was nothing she could do about it, "I know you can't promise me that you won't, we both know that now... and I know you wouldn't even want to... and that's what scares me."

He listened to every word, not motioning in the slightest. A frown seemed to be frozen on his face for the longest time. Bree had been waiting for him to speak, but then it dawned on her, he didn't know what to say.

She looked down to the table and then to his hands, they were reaching for a glass to swig back another shot. "What happened to your hands?" The cuts were deep, dirt had embedded into scraped crevices, it looked painful. "Well? Are you going to tell me? Or should I just guess?"

"I shouldn't tink you'd be giving a 'rats arse.'" He mimicked her words and tone perfectly.

She scoffed and reached across the table to inspect further. The warm and tenderness in her touch tickled him to his very core, nearly setting him hard in his breeches. "Will you at least let me clean them? ...You'll probably get sick with fever if you don't."

"Will it please ye?" He asked, raising both eyebrows in a condescending manner.

"Well I think it'll please you more than me, considering I've never seen a handless sailor before."

"Not 'andless sailors, but der's plenty of handless captains," smiling charmingly, he lifted his glass to give cheers to himself.

Hot-headily Bree rolled her eyes, then rose from the chair to fetch some supplies. Collecting a bowl of sea water, a couple of boiled rags and some tea tree solution, she glared at Stephen and took his oversized hand back into hers. Then with a judgemental eyebrow raised, she began to dab deep lacerations with a dampened rag, "Christ woman! That stings!" He barked, whisking his hand away swiftly.

"Good," she glowered, "And, don't be such a baby! You think this is bad--You should try giving birth." Reaching back for his hand, she puckered her lips in annoyance and continued her work. It was clear it wasn't his first rodeo, his hands already had scars marking them, most of them on his palms. "If I ask you, what the story is with Blackbeard, will you tell me?" she asked, glancing up from his knuckles to his face.

"Der's nothin' to tell," he was a closed book, she shouldn't push it. "It didn't seem that way, when I had a knife to my throat." She shouldn't-- but would.

" _Brianna_ , I'm not discussin' dis, so stop."

"Fine, then I guess there's nothing else for us to talk about." He wasn't getting 'jack shit' from her, until he gave a little. Finished cleaning and dressing his wounds, she rose from the chair and leant down to pick up Aidan from the crate.

"I know ye didn't tell me the whole truth, 'bout ye." Bree couldn't look at him, he'd see the truth-- she hadn't prepared for this conversation.

"What makes you think that?" Composing herself as best she could, she turned around to confront his accusation.

"I'm gambling man Darlin, I know a bluff, when I 'ear one." He smirked, while pouring yet, another shot of whiskey.

"You know alcohol in large doses, is really bad for you." She demeaned with a half-smile.

"Plenty of tings are bad for me sweet'eart, but I like dem too much to stop." Raising his glass once again, he took the shot, then watched as Bree exited the room, not turning back again.

*

Bree hadn't been surprised in the slightest when Stephen came barging into the cabin that night. She also hadn't been surprised by his slurred speech and staggering stride that accompanied it. "I be-en needin' to talk wit chyeah," he strode into the rooms centre, nearly taking out every piece of furniture on his way in.

"Oh, do you now?" she snorted, "I think you actually need to go to bed."

"Aye-e, I do, and tis where my bed is."

Bree rubbed her eyes and temples stressfully when he continued to stagger to his apparent side of the bed. Beginning to strip down to his birthday suit, she arched up, "And by go to bed, I mean far, far away from here." She had to stay calm, she couldn't fight him again. The whole thing was ridiculous, what the hell was she doing in a room with her violator?

"Tiss-is my bed sweet'eart, and I'm sleepin' in it." Partitally clothed, apparently too tired to remove his breeches, Stephen climbed into the bed and under the covers. "Comb on _darlin_ , I need ye in 'ere wit me," the dimples on both sides of his face, almost made her forget what had happened just the day before.

"You are _crazy_ , if you think I'm getting in there with you, especially drunk."

He laughed and rolled onto his back, flexing biceps in his arms, he ran his hands down his face, "this is my ship, my son and-d—"

"He's NOT your son, you may have fathered him, but that's where it ends. And I'm not your wife, nor will I ever be, so don't EVEN say it."

"He is my son, whether ye like dat or not... and...ye'd be makin' things a lot easier on both of us if ye agreed to wed me," yet another thing he couldn't force her to do, no priest would allow it.

"Why, so you can use and abuse me however you want, and it's legal?" she scoffed, stamping about the room, busing herself. "Would you, marry you?" she snapped back around with crossed arms, tapping a foot to provoke an answer.

"No, I myself, prefer a lass," he grinned at his own humour, the cockiness wouldn't seem to leave his face.

A sigh followed by a grating huff, "I am not staying in here with you," it wasn't like she could just leave, she had Aidan and he required the comforts of the cabin.

While Stephen Rejoiced in his childish victory, Bree tended to the new distressed cries from Aidan, "I hope you know, that if you insist on sleeping in here, you won't get any sleep."

"Oh?" He blinked questionably, "what's the matter with the lad?"

"He gets upset, when I get upset." She flashed a satisfied smirk, then leant down to peel back the blankets, "Oh little man, please stop. This is night two now, I need you to sleep." Sitting down at the base of the bed, she stealthily glanced back before pulling her breast out to begin feeding her very cranky baby.

"I'm more than willin' to give it try," he stated casually from behind.

"You and your useless nipples can mind your own business," she snapped her head back around to give him daggers.

"I meant once yer finished," she could practically hear the eyeroll from behind.

After that, the only sound audible in the room was the awkward, gasping and suckling, of Aidan's meal, "he's a ravenous little fellow, isn't he?" Stephen chuckled at the sounds.

"He's growing... what were you expecting, look at the size of you." No one picked on her baby, no one.

Still on guard, but unable to stay so ridged, Bree finally relaxed her shoulders. When she felt Stephen's hand gently touch her arm from behind, she tightened instinctively. "Can I ask ye somethin'? His voice was a gentle whisper, whatever he wanted to ask, he wouldn't when he was sober. "Do ye _fear_ _my touch_ , like ye fear Blackbeard's?" He was terrified to hear the answer, his eyes were like a boy's; bothered and worried, as to whether he'd be rejected from something he'd desperately wanted.

" _No_ —" she inhaled deeply, exhaling the breath before continuing, "I'm much _more_ afraid of _you_ \--" Bree couldn't look at him, it was just too shameful to say, "It's worse with you, because for some reason I-I just can't seem hate you... at least not the way that I want to... And I don't really know why that is... "

It hadn’t been the answer he’d expected, it was better. “I know ye'll try to run when we reach Jamaica... and I want to tell ye now, how foolish that would be."

"You have no intention of taking me back to Inverness, do you?" she'd known that for a while now.

"I do 'ate that place... But frequent der often, whiskey from the Highlands, is the best."

"I 'ave to tell ye sweet'art, makes my blood curdle at the thought of ye weddin' another man, and he raisin' my son."

"Well, that’s not your choice."

When those words left her lips, Stephen wanted nothing more than to shake her to her senses. However, hindsight would stop him from laying his hands on her in anger ever again. It got them nowhere. Violence and Bree, were like oil and water, they’d never combine.

“I don't need a husband; I can do it on my own." And she could, in her own time.

Stephen was so close now, Bree could smell the mixture of hard work and fermented whiskey on his skin. Reaching around, he took her hand from Aidan's head, and in doing so, accidently grazed fingers across delicate and supple breast. Bree trembled from the rawness of it. Not saying a word, he tested her eagerness to come to him with a small tug of her hand.

Initially she'd pulled away, but when he flashed a pair of eyes as lonely as the heart of the ocean, she obeyed, allowing him to guide her to him. Cuddled into each other on the edge of the bed, there they were, the three of them. Perhaps one of the most dysfunctional families of all time.

Bree's ear was pressed against stout pecks, there was no hiding the heightened breathing beneath them. Stephen was nervous, something was burdening him. Silently, he wrapped tiny fingers around one of his own, smiling as he did so. “Ye say he mighta died because of me last night... but he also wouldn’t be alive wit’out me. Am I right in sayin so?”

Bree wasn’t sure why she’d allowed him to even touch her after everything he’d done. There was something in the way he looked at her—the way he looked at Aidan. There was good in him, it was just buried so deeply.

“Yes, I guess that is correct.”

"I want ye to change yer mind... I want ye to kiss me again... the same way ye did last night." Genuine feelings, was a one piece of Bree, he couldn’t take by force. It was also the only piece of her he wanted. Nothing had made him feel more powerful than the feeling of her giving herself over to him willingly.

Hurt, angry, confused, yet Bree still couldn't deny that Stephen's words hadn't struck her heart strings. He was showing a side of himself, she hadn't even known existed. Raising her head from where it was resting against his chest, she spoke more openly than she had her whole life. "I can't say that I'll ever be able to give that to you... And if I did, I might hate myself."

An epiphany hit Stephen right there on the edge of the bed that night. He'd hurt Bree, he knew that, yet unlike so many others, she could still stomach him. It didn't matter if he understood the way she felt, all that mattered was that he could accept it. "Ye're like no other woman, I've ever known... Ye're the mother of my son, and although I've harmed ye-- I won't let anyone else.” He’d make her love him.

“I’m holding you to that.”

Smiling down, he ran his hand up her arm to push stray curls behind her ear.

"What happened 'ere?" His face grimaced, worry and anger muddled together. "Did ye do that?" he held a short lock of hair between his fingers.

"Oh, no, I think it happened on the deck, the knife must have cut it when it was up against my neck." It really wasn't that big a deal, it was only hair. In Bree's opinion, her neck was far more important.

"Ye should've told me," he growled, running it between thumb and forefinger again.

"I didn't really think it was that big of a deal... it'll grow back, it's hair, in case you hadn't noticed, I have a lot of it."

"It's not funny," he snapped, rising from the bed.

Noticing Stephen's distress, Bree rose to follow, placing a hand on his shoulder from behind, she gently shook him, "what is it?"

Troubled, he turned back around and ran his hands through the ends of her auburn locks once again. "What's wrong with you?" she asked again, he couldn't seem to peel his eyes away from it.

Stephen had seen this too many times to count. He himself, was a cold-blooded killer but nothing touched Blackbeard's madness. And that madness was now all over Bree, he could smell him on her. Deep despair, depravity, and darkness. "I'll tell ye about Blackbeard, but only because of this." He held the shortened piece to her vison. "This is what he does Brianna, he won't stop, until he's dead."

Holding his chin in his hand, he glared at shortened curls again. "Sit down den."

**A/N: all right kids, I’m back. If there’s anything you want to read more of let me know. More Aidan with Stephen, more Claire and Jamie? Don’t be shy, speak up! 🥰**

**I also just wanted to point out that although Captain Blackbeard was a horrible person, his collection of Bree’s hair is completely fictional. I don’t know what he got up to in his spare time. If you don’t mind, please share your thoughts on this chapter, I really struggled with it.**


	14. “Two Men”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters of ideas from “Outlander.” They belong to Diana Gabaldon. There’s also some dialogue I don’t own in here as well. **

**A/N: I know… I know… this is long overdue. And I’m sorry if there’s been any readers out there who have been waiting. In truth, I’ve had this written for days, but I’m pedantic with my editing. If it doesn’t feel right, I won’t post it. I also would just like to point out, before you guys start reading, that this chapter has historical inaccuracies. Thank you again to all of you who have commented, I know I’ve said it a million times, but I really appreciate it.**

Chapter 14: “Two Men”

_Stephen Bonnet_ : a master manipulator, a charmer, and opportunist. A list of alluring traits that even Brianna couldn’t seem to escape. After a discussion regarding Blackbeard, she’d once again fallen asleep with Stephen right by her side. It wasn’t so much the act that had been so alarming, it was more the fact that when she’d awoke, it had been to the most peaceful state of mind she’d experienced in over a year. Bree was beginning to see just how complicated he really was. Thick layers of ice were beginning to melt, a chisel wasn’t necessary anymore to dig deeper.

Sliding a hand across the bed, she noticed Stephen had already left for the day. Considering Bree had striped him bare of almost all his barriers, it wasn’t surprising. And Judging by the lack of heat residing in the bed, it was obvious he’d left long before dawn. Bree couldn’t help but feel an emptiness, a bareness in the sheets next to her. An overwhelming armada, spicy liquor and underlying musk coated the sheets. She tried to shake it off, but soon found her thoughts back to the night before.

_“Sit down den,” Stephen had commanded. Nearly growling, but a hint of uncertainty leaked out in his voice. Obediently, Bree submitted, and seated herself along the edge of the bed. Following her nervous footsteps, Stephen had taken a seat beside her. It had been a ridiculously intimate setting; only gleaming candlelight lit their faces for one another. Turned into each other, on the edges of the bed, the close proximity had been asphyxiating. The smell of dried blood and briny sea air clouded all Bree’s other senses. Unpleasant to some-- but to her, it was earthly, comforting even._

_In return wildflowers, sweet nectar, and the scent of something pure and holy lingered on Bree. Running a rough finger across her bottom lip, Stephen licked his unconsciously. Trying his best to ignore the itch in his crotch, he released it and wiped his face with his hands. Attempting to erase all the godliness his eyes were taking in.  
_

_The thinness of Bree’s shift left little to Stephen’s imagination. Rosebud peaks, pink and firm poked out from beneath the sheer fabric. He wanted nothing more than to rip the material straight off her body—just taking her in the way he always should have. Bree was foreign to him, in so many more ways than one. It was a beauty beyond anything he’d never witnessed before. The kind of beauty he’d never thought himself worthy of. She certainly couldn’t even be compared to the whores he was accustomed to._

_He wanted her, had to have her. However, he promised himself, the next time he laid with her, it would be on consensual terms. Terms of endearment, in a bed they would call their own._

_Bree could see the effects of strong whiskey in his stare. Woozy and unfocused, he was completely exposed. He’d tell her anything she wanted to know. Feeling him soaking her body in, she crossed her arms protectively, realising just exposed to him she really was. A smiled formed on Stephen’s lips at her nervousness. “Relax darlin’ I learnt my lesson the last time.” He chastised her with another wicked beam._

_“I think you are someone who doesn’t learn a lesson.” She glared, crossing her arms even tighter against her chest. “Now stop procrastinating and tell me the damn story.”_

_Letting out a deep and troubled sigh, he finally spoke. “I was only a boy when I met captain Blackbeard… seventeen and very foolish.” He paused, clearly bothered by the recollection. This time running his hands down his face in a hassled manner. “I had been building a foundation for a house, when I had been tricked into t’inkin’ the fellow men had accepted me --but instead I was left for dead… I was to be a human sacrifice.”_

_“What?” Bree hadn’t expected that. She’d known he’d had a troubled past, but nothing that extreme, “that’s awful.” She couldn’t manage more than a whisper._

_“Yes well, it was a long time ago—and no one dare fools me now.” And just like that Stephen became bitter once again. Cruel and closed off. There was no light in his eyes anymore, only dejection and pain. “I ‘ad considered returning to Ireland, but he propositioned me for a spot among his crew—so I accepted…He taught me everyt’ing I know; how to fight, how to make men fear my every move—“_

_Stephen couldn’t blame Blackbeard entirely for the darkness that now consumed him. But he’d known himself, he’d freed it of any and all constraints. He paused, looking up to Bree, ensuring she was listening-- not judging. This was hard for him to say, a gentle hand on his knee, urged him to continue. “He had some odd habits, ones I’d not seen before. I often saw lasses go into ‘is cabin at night, to be floatin’ in the water by mornin’…”_

_Bree didn’t interrupt, but her face showed warranted fear. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to hear what he had to say. There was a word for men like Blackbeard in 1969._

_“Years ago, now before I left ‘is crew…, I was in his cabin, lookin’ for some gems… gold and such… I’d had the intention den to purchase my own ship, I ‘adn’t found what I was lookin’ for… Instead I found a small box… filled with lockets of ‘air-- all different colours.”_

_“You mean… like trophies?” She pushed with widened golden orbs._

_“Say what now?” A crease in his forehead told her he had no idea what she was talking about._

_“Nothing.” Rubbing her face with her hands, she shook off the exhaustion of hiding her identity and smiled. “So, what, you think he’s going to kill me?”_

_“I tink he might try… but killin’ would be the least of yer worries… Some of the prettier ones, he kept around for longer, much longer... unlike me, Captain Blackbeard doesn’t pay for his pleasures.…. It wouldn’t be a quick death darlin.”_

_Well that little comment sparked a fury within Brianna, once again feeling the urge to slap him silly. “Just because you pay for it-- doesn’t mean you can just take whatever it is that you want.” He’d pushed the right button to ensure she scooted away. He just couldn’t seem to say the right thing, not ever._

_“And so… you just let him do this all the time?” She squinted in judgment, not even trying to hide the verdict in her tone._

_“What a captain does behind closed doors, is his own business.” And he was right, a captain’s law was final aboard a ship. Wrong or right, it didn’t matter._

_“That’s the stupidest piece of nonsense I’ve ever heard—” She was pushing it, she knew it. “… And beyond, cowardly.” She’d said it in barely a whisper, but Bree’s words had burnt straight through him. Starting with his ears and then straight to his core, leaving him overcome and aching._

_But that aching soon morphed into something else, defensive vapours of rage, “I’m not a coward! A word she hadn’t used against him before and he hated it. Two fists constricted around Bree’s upper arms and pulled her into him, tightening her to the point she couldn’t catch her breath. “I’m not a coward Brianna,” clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth, he shook her in frustration. “I’m worthy of ye!” It would have appeared that instead of trying to convince Bree, Stephen had in fact, been trying to convince himself._

_“Prove it then! …PROVE you’re a better man then this,” she winced at the tightness. This time unafraid of him—unafraid to speak her mind. He released the tightness in his grip and all the wrath that accompanied it. He was doing it again, allowing his temper to dictate his actions. Why had this suddenly become blatantly clear to him?_

_“If you want anything more from me than plain hatred, there can’t be anymore bruises.” Reminding him of what he was capable of, she ran her fingers along the prominent fingerprints of her wrists._

_Stephen growled at his own temper. Running hands through tousled hair, he then glared annoyedly back at her, “what is it that ye want from me?” Raising his face from perched palms, he gave her his full attention. He had to know. “Ye want me to change, to be a better man? --Well I’m sorry sweet’art, dis is the man I am.”_

_“I believe there are two men inside of you Stephen Bonnet.” She pulled his face from his hands and with a gentle palm to the thick scar on his face, demanded all his attention. Gentleness would get her somewhere, it had to. “One of them is the man I met last night in your office… And the man who violated me a year ago—the other man, is the one, who saved me on deck… and the one who wants a chance to be a father.”_

_That same small and tender hand ran down his cheek. Unable to confirm or deny her theory, Stephen whipped his hand atop of Bree’s, desperate to keep her there. Roughly and striking like a snake, he pulled her onto his lap. Saying nothing, he wrapped her hands around his neck. Gazing down, Bree noticed It was the first time she had ever been in a position to look down on him, a position of physical power. She’d won the battle that night._

_Stephen stared up to her for the longest time, eyes glistening with something; Bree didn’t dare say tears. “Will ye help me?” His voice low and shattered, “will ye help me be a man you and my son deserve?” Asking for amnesty, his voice was a plea, he was in his rawest of forms. Pale green eyes, flickered below her, asking so much. Forgiveness, tenderness, understanding and love. “Will ye teach me to lohve?” That broke Bree, in a way she’d never believed possible. She’d thought herself numb to the monster in front of her. She couldn’t even remember who this man before her was anymore.  
_

_Was he manipulating her? Only time would tell. This look of vulnerability and hopelessness just couldn’t have been an act. “Yes, of course,” she smiled warily._

_A smile of pure joy and happiness flashed on and off Stephen’s face at her answer. He knew Bree had to be something not of this world. She couldn’t be human. Something fabled, mythical even. --Because no man or woman alive, could have that sort of power over him._

*

Putting the memories of the night before behind her, Bree relaced her corset from where it had been cut. Repairing it with a new string, she finished dressing for the day. Stephen would be thrilled that her own gown now had a hole, from bust to naval. Leaving her no other option but to wear the one he had provided. Mrs Nelly had offered to mend it, but the memory attached to it, was reason enough to retire the article all together. Reassuring her mind, Bree told herself, she’d pick something else up once they had arrived in Jamaica.

Leaving her hair down in soft waves, she departed the room with Aidan in clutch.

Once arriving on deck, she noticed that the entire crew had gathered around the stern of the ship. Stephen was at the head of the pack, speaking to Weasley, his face serious with concern. “What’s going on?” she shimmied in from behind. Most seaman looking up at the sound of her voice, a lamb in a pack of wolves.

“Seems Blackbeard has found his voice again,” Weasley informed from beside her. “…Wants to reboard the ship, insistin’ on an immediate trade.”

“Oh.” Bree tried to hide her gulp, “what is it that he wants now?”

“Same as before, _Whiskey and Whores._ He seems to think we have both aboard, in abundant amounts.”

“Cap’ain perhaps we can spare just one?” a foul-mouthed man weighed in from the front. Every ounce of his voice, matching his appearance. “I’m sure one of these lassies would make a lovely whore.” His snickering soon stopped when he saw there was no glint of humour on Stephen’s face.

“Did I ask for yer input?” A cruel smile and a step forward made the man back down instantly.

It wasn’t that Stephen was against sending some innocent woman aboard Captain Blackbeard’s ship. Previously, he himself would have come up with the idea. But due to many contributing factors, he’d advised himself against it. One being, that his crew did not make decisions for him, he was the captain and he called the shots. The second reason being: Brianna. To put it simply, he wanted to impress her.

“No, I don’t tink we’ll be negotiating with our dear friend Captain Blackbeard today… he steps foot onto dis ship again, he’ll be dead before he can take a breath in.”

“Captain, we’re just over a week out from land, how will we stall him for such an amount of time?”

Bree faded out into the depths of her mind at that question _. What if he did step a foot onto the ship-- And what if this time, he did take her. What if she was separated from Aidan? A feeling too horrendous to fathom. What about Inverness? how would she ever get there? And even if she did, would she dare try and leave at the risk of Aidan being left behind… being sent somewhere else?_

“ _Brianna_ ,” a voice and a set of sterns, wide and green, jerked her out of her daze. “Are ye alight,” placing a hand on either side of her face, Stephen’s voiced forced her out of her daze.

“Yeah,” she shook her head shaking off the cold shiver down her spine. “I was just thinking… that he looks closer than he did yesterday.”

“Aye, he is.” Bree could read Stephen like a book at that moment. The way his forehead was wrinkled, not saying more than a couple of words, such confliction.

“OH, MRS BONNET… YER LOOKIN’ BEAUTIFUL AS EVER THIS MORNIN’,” God, he really was the devil. Expect unpoetically, not in disguise. “WELL THEN, HOW ARE YOU MRS BONNET.” Blackbeard attempted to sound as charming as he could.

Bree scoffed, almost a laugh too malignant to have come past her lips. This bastard was just yanking her chain, he wanted a bite, she’d give him one. “I’M BLOODY FANTASTIC, THANK YOU FOR ASKING.” He wasn’t going to get the better of her, not ever again.

“WELL THAT’S GOOD TO HEAR, GOT SOMETHIN’ TO GIVE YA ONCE WE’RE ON LAND.”

“Is he actually serious? Was that an indirect threat?” snorting, she gestured her hand to Stephen for his spyglass. Peering in, to see Blackbeard looking right back at her. “I really don’t like that man.” She glanced back up meet Stephen’s unchanged nervousness.

Taking the spyglass back from Bree, Stephen too peered in, “ye shouldn’t be coaxin’ him on, we don’t want him on ‘ere… Need to get ahead on them,” he mumbled to himself.

“So… we just need to get ahead, reach land before them?” Why hadn’t this dawned on her before?

“Yes, dat’s the way of it.” He answered, still magnetically peering into the spyglass.

“I think I have an idea.”

“And what idea is dat?” Dropping his arms, he turned to look to her. Puzzling her with a frown, he widened his eyes in annoyance when she still hadn’t answered. “Well what is it den?”

But Bree couldn’t just jump to answer him. She knew what she was about to recommend would point a whole lot of fingers at her. However, lives depended on it. _Aidan’s life depended on it_. It was going to be a risk, bringing knowledge from the future always was. “We’ll have to wait until dark—and you’ll have to send them over some whiskey for this to happen. They can’t be able to see.”

If her mother could invent penicillin, one hundred and fifty-eight years before its time, then she too, could cheat time and space.

*  
  


**Wilmington, North Carolina, August 1770  
  
**

“Excuse me!”

 **  
**“Oh thank you for stopping Lieutenant, we were wondering if you may be able to assist us… you see, we’re looking for our daughter… have you seen her?” Claire once again reached for the wrinkled sketch. Jamie had been tiring of her very docile interrogation tactics. He, himself was prepared to knock some heads together. They’d been searching for what seemed like an eternity and it appeared they had only been chasing their own tails.

“ _Your daughter_ , Miss O’Hara? …. Yes, I have seen her, she was here about a week ago, with _the Gloriana…_ ” It was Bree alright; she’d watched Gone with the Wind way too many times to count as a child. She had clearly chosen to live out her fantasy while she could.

Claire laughed briefly under her breath before continuing, “Miss O’Hara… _Yes_ … Scarlett?”

“Sassenach, what are ye talkin’ about,” Jamie coyly asked from her side.

“I’ll explain later.”

“I met your daughter while on patrol, I did not see Captain Bonnet with her, she assured me he had fallen ill and resided in Virginia… However, there have been reports from ‘His majesties, King George, vessels,’ that Captain Bonnet is both, alive and well. And on the way to Jamaica.”

“Jamaica?” Jamie clarified in shock.

“Yes, that’s what I believe.”

“And your name?”

“Lieutenant Thomas Smith, Madame, at your service.”

“Cannya tell us more about this Captain Bonnet?”  
  


*

After dropping Aidan into the Galley, with a flock of women that would no doubt be doting on him hand and foot, Bree ran to the cabin for some bits and pieces. She had no books from the future and no real experience regarding eighteenth century sailing, but she was an engineer and she did know her history. She was only ripping off someone else’s idea… Even lacking major components, she still felt it could still work.

Grabbing charcoal and her sketch book she returned to the deck to begin drawing. Five or six curious men were gathered around her, the rest working and waiting for orders.

“So, if we block off all the bare space surrounding the masts… covering them with sails… we’ll then capture more wind.” She tilted her head at her masterpiece. Stephen stared in awe; he didn’t know what to think. “Then we’ll need to turn the sails to ensure they’re square,” Tensely, she slowly glanced up to ensure they understood and were onboard with her plans.

“How do ye know this would work mistress?”

“Well Weasley, I can’t really answer that, I think you’ll just have to trust me and see… But I suppose if you really need an answer, that’s not witchcraft… then it’s simply, _physics. The very same laws this ship was originally built on… expect it was built for durability… not speed._ ”

“Aye… I trust ye mistress, you were right about the mens sickness.” He smiled warmly, then peered over to Stephen, “Captain, what do ye think?”

Stephen remained silent, the furrow in his brow and the way he stared at Bree’s immaculate sketch made her nervous. She knew what he was thinking, but his actions were always so unpredictable. He could agree, or maybe he’d just throw her overboard.

“It’s called a ‘clipper’… it’s rare?” she tiptoed, smiling sheepishly to see if he’d buy it, “And… it’s fast.” _Rare, she snorted internally, try not invented yet._

“Well I suppose der’s no ‘arm in tryin’ at nightfall, we’ll start.” He complied, but Bree could tell behind closed doors she’d hear a lot more about it later.

Sighing a breath of relief, she continued with her sketch. Stephen’s curious eyes were still above her, watching the way her fingers moved with such grace. The way she naturally moved her auburn locks to one shoulder, clearing her vision, made him want to reach out and touch the newly exposed perfection. “Ye illustrate bootifully,” he confessed, softening his face at the sight, of both splendours before him.

“Thank you, I’ve always enjoyed it.” She smiled, fumbling through the vast file of papers. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears when she saw him reach down and pull one out from the stack. Almost contemplating retrieving it, Bree reached her hand out. It was too late he had it between grubby fingertips, seeing it for what it was. It was the very sketch she’d previously hid from everyone, including herself.

“Ye’ve captured my likeness perfectly,” Stephen gawked, he couldn’t help it, he was astonished at the quality of work. “ _It’s menacing,”_ he mumbled, studying every line and shade in its entirety.

“Yes, it is… I-I d-did it, b-before Aidan was even born.” Bree herself, had never been certain as to why she’d drawn Stephen’s portrait. But as she had confessed to him weeks ago, he had plagued her mind for months. There had been a time, where she couldn’t have drawn anything else.

Offended, may have been what Stephen should have felt at that moment. Instead, he felt honoured, privileged even. He’d never been given anything like it in his whole life, a gift of emotion and energy, _it was priceless._

*

**The Atlantic Ocean, South of the Colonies, North of Cuba, August 1770**

As soon as nightfall hit the Atlantic Ocean, Bree was up on deck praying her plan would cooperate with her. Sixty-two years before its invention, a clipper ship was making its debut. Considering the crew had been flabbergasted by the evolution of a few minor changes, she figured they definitely weren’t ready for the steam engine.

In Bree’s defence, this version of the ‘Clipper’ would be in the most basic of forms. Even still, it ran several risks. Bree’s main concerns were the possible effects she’d have on the future. Or if it worked, Stephen could decide that she was in fact an evil sorceress.

Unable to build a ‘clipper’ from scratch, Bree was convinced that using a few minor characteristics of its model, would enhance ‘the Gloriana’s’ speed significantly. “Do you have any extra sails? …three small ones at the bow would be beneficial.”

“Possibly. I’ll send Agnes below deck, to have a look.” Secretly, Weasley as well as the rest of crew had been uncertain of Bree’s plan. But since the healing of scurvy aboard the ship, she’d built a trust with the men, particularity with Agnes.

Bree could hear bellows of unpolished laughter from across the vastness of the ocean, suggesting whiskey had been delivered to ‘The Revenge’ hours before. The crew aboard no doubt already drunk and unknowing to their plan. If all went according to plan, _the Revenge_ would be eating _the Gloriana’s_ dust by morning.

Bree glanced from the port side of the ship to the bow. Noticing straight away that Stephen was both nervous and conflicted once again. “The devils Triangle,” he muttered to Bree as he approached her.

“We might as well sink de ship now.” ‘ _The devils Triangle_ commonly known as _The Bermuda Triangle_ , a vast stretch of ocean in the South Atlantic. Judging by Stephen’s reaction to it, it was true that sailors really did fear it. Hundreds of years, of mystical and supernatural reporting’s, Christopher Columbus had been to blame for that. He’d sighted a ball of fire in the middle of the ocean and reported erratic compass readings. Little did he know, meteors are common in the middle of the ocean, and true north, accompanied by a magnetic field, would most definitely affect a compass reading.

 _“They don’t know this yet… they don’t know this yet,”_ Bree repeated the mantra in her head until it finally stuck. “I really wouldn’t worry about it, _‘the devils triangle’_ is about as real as leprechauns and fairies,” she smiled playfully.

“And how do ye know dey aren’t real?” Had she offended an Irishman by saying leprechauns were only folklore? Whoops.

“Maybe ye’ll be believin’ when we’re stuck at the bottom of the ocean, tentacles and such latchin’ to your arms and legs. No, I’ll be believin’ until I’m dead.” Stephen Bonnet had a fear, how had she missed this.

“You’re afraid of the sea?”

“Aye, horrible, treacherous place it is.” He seemed to leave her at that point in time, off in some dark and disturbing place deep in the back of his mind. Bree clutched his hand into hers softly, he came back.

He was shocked to say the least. Looking down at their joined hands and then to her face. Plain and pure astonishment, of the best kind. “Comb on darlin’ let’s get dis done.”

It was hard to see what they were doing on deck; a few lanterns and the twinkling’s of stars were the only lights provided. They’d picked a hell of night, not even a crescent moon to help guide their path. Contrary to what Bree had thought, the sails had been the easiest thing to change over. Most of them easily turned to an alternate angle to form large and dominant squares. The ship soon began to take shape and Bree began to panic about another thing altogether, what if it worked? Was engineering even a degree in 1770? And even if it were, surely a woman wouldn’t have been allowed to study it.

Only the bow remained untouched, and it proved to be the most challenging part. Three men nearly falling overboard trying to reach far enough across to secure the sails into place. By the fourth attempt Stephen had begun growing impatient and irritable. “Christ sake, would ye pricks sort it out!” When no progression had been made, he disappeared below deck. Bree had money on him going to check on Aidan. He hadn’t trusted Mrs Nelly with him since the last incident on deck.

After his departure, Bree too, took her turn with annoyance. Rolling her eyes, she moved forward to where young Agnes and William had been struggling. Both men had been cursed with large and awkward limbs. They’d never be able to crawl into such a small and finicky space. “If someone can give me a boost and hold me steady, I’ll do it.” She offered, already pulling herself to sit along the ship’s ledge.

“Mistress, I don’t think that to be safe,” but of course, Weasley had no choice but to oblige her. Stubborn and headstrong, Bree had already began standing along the ship’s ledge. “Mistress! If the captain sees ye doin’ this, both of us will be done for.”

“He’s not my keeper and he won’t know,” she smiled down, one hand gripped the sail she’d wanted to mount. The other was clutched firmly onto Weasley’s shoulder.

She reached across for the bows rope, unable to catch it, she released her hold on Weasley’s shoulder and leant further. The wood of the mast, damp and smooth, caused her hand to slip out from where it had rested. To make matters worse, one foot slid out from beneath her, the other quickly followed in suit. She jolted forward, face first towards blackness and known treacherous waters. Still falling forward, all she could briefly see was the exterior of the ship in front of her eyes. After that there were stars, bright lights, and the sounds of crashing waves beneath her. Then everything closed into darkness.

“MAN OVERBOARD.”

**A/N: Alright kids let’s settle down. What are we thinking? That damn Blackbeard right!? I’m not an engineer, but I tried. I did a bit of research on the evolution of ships, and the “Clipper” was a massive steppingstone in the ways of travel. It was a much faster journey and the ships being much more comfortable for its passengers.**

**Also, if any of you have read the books and you notice I describe Bree’s eyes as golden or the colour of whiskey. That’s a subtle adaption from the books to the show. You see in the novels, Claire’s eyes are actually golden, and Bree’s are blue… see what I did there! Haha.**

**If you want these two heated up a bit in the following chapter, you're going to have to let me know. I don't want to do it and find out, its too soon.**


	15. "Man Overboard"

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or ideas from "Outlander." They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: This chapter is so overdue, I'm sorry guys! I want to thank everyone for being so patient with me. And I'm sorry. I really hope this doesn't disappoint. Please enjoy and as always, comments and feedback are cherished and taken on board. Those of you who analyse my work... your input really does inspire. xx**

**Warning : Coarse Language**

** Chapter 15: "Man Overboard" **

"Ye do resemble yer 'andsome father don't ye?" Just as they had before, green eyes shone back into green eyes, as father and son shared a sly and warm cuddle below deck. It had been a couple of days since Stephen had last checked over his son properly. It seemed that every time he did, Aidan had not only grown, but also changed in some small way. His cheeks, still round and plump, had Stephen's same dimples. And when he smiled, it reached all the way to his eyes, just as his did. He couldn't help but feel a sort of masculine pride, to know he'd assisted in the creation of something so complete and perfect. When he thought of Bree being the one to give it to him, he became a man full of emotions he couldn't understand or process. Never before had there ever been any inclination to care about anyone other than himself. But staring down at an actual miniature version of himself, he would have done just about anything to protect this bundle of arms and legs.

Entranced by a small and heartfelt giggle, Stephen playfully threw Aidan above his head. From Stephen's height it was a long way down, but his fingertips hadn't moved further than an inch away from from the cooing infant. Even still, the action would have put any mother into a conniption. The laughter grew and a string of drool dripped down from Aidan's plump and excited lips, finally landing onto Stephen's shoulder. Easing his hands back down, Stephen stopped and smirked, only to do it once again.

"Ohhh, Cap'ain, ye'll rile him all up for me! I need him to be sleepin'!" Mrs Nelly screeched from the corner; no doubt already flustered from some other task. Reaching her hands out, she prompted Stephen to hand over the hyperactive infant. "He's not good for me, like he is for his ma." She added, fanning her flushed face at the thought of the long evening she had ahead of her. Bree had never been specific as to how long she would be. "I'm an ole woman cap'ain, I can't keep up anymore."

"Aye, ye are an ole bat," he didn't even attempt to sugar coat his thoughts. "Or a screechin' old barn owl. I be feelin' sorry for my son, if ye're shriekin' in his ear like dat all day." The old bat knew better than to tango with Captain Bonnet, so she bit her tongue and glared back at him instead.

Stephen had been in the process of handing Aidan over to Mrs Nelly when he had heard it.

A loud bellow, shadowed by the distant ringing of a bell, "MAN OVERBOARD." More shouting and frantic scurrying followed. Rolling his eyes at his crews reoccurring stupidity, he motioned his way back up to the deck. He took his time, there really wasn't much point in rushing. Any person that fell into the sea at that time of night, would never have been recovered. Swept under, swept out, drowned or frozen, it wouldn't matter, they would only perish.

He hadn't even placed his boot onto the deck before Agnus came barrelling towards him. "Captain!" The young Scotsman stuttered in a panic, "it was an-n ac-c-cident... i-i-t-t all happened so fast, she was steady... and then... I dinna ken..."

Keeping his composure but feeling a strange tightness of anxiety in his chest Stephen simply asked, "Who?" He covered his worry well, casually raking his eyes over the deck searching for Brianna.

"Mistress Fraser captain-- she slipped."

*

_Bree hadn't been able to comprehend what had happened before she was barrelling forwards into darkness. One second, she'd had her footing, the next second she was falling face first into the depths of the unknown. Beneath her seemed to be the centre of a black hole waiting to gobble her up. The inside, a mystery, no inclination to knowing what's inside or where she would end up. It was terrifying for only a moment, because before she could process much else than falling, she'd launched so far forward her head had collided with the exterior of the bow. "A dunk," and bright stars behind her eyes followed. She wouldn't remember anything after that._

_What she didn't know—was that mercy had soon followed. With cat like reflexes Wesley had caught her by the legs, hiking her up in one swift movement. "Thank Christ, the lass weighs not more than a wee bird." He wiped the stressed bead of sweat from his brow._

_Carrying Bree's lifeless form, he laid her down onto the deck. "The captain isn't goin' to like this." He looked up to the other seamen, frazzled with worry at the unconscious young woman. "Would ye stop ringin' the damn bell! Christ! She even hasn't even fallen in!" He exclaimed, "Fetch the captain and my mother, the lass has got a nasty bump on her head."_

*

Stephen's heart stopped and a cold sweat broke out across his neck when his eyes eventually caught sight of Bree's lifeless body on the deck. Loosing all his composure, he sprinted forwards, “Brianna!" He was sure she was dead; she wasn't moving, and the men were all terrified of him. "Ye better pray to Christ himself that she's not dead!" One of his broad shoulders knocked straight into Wesley, setting the stumpy man off balance. Why wasn't anyone saying anything to him?

"YE GODDAMN PRICKS! ...YE IMBOSILES!" he dropped to his knees and slid along the deck, approaching her side hastily, "Brianna!" He pulled her up off the deck and into his arms, she felt so fragile and limp. Her head fell back and with it, long red hair dragged along the timber of the deck. Stephen swallowed the lump in his throat that had suddenly formed from the sight.

"No, captain, she's not dead, she's breathing," Wesley said from above. "The lass was only tryin' to help... but she slipped and fell forward...I asked Agnus to fetch my mother." Wesley tried to stay as calm as he could, but the angrier Stephen's face became the less confidence he seemed to be able to muster. "It was lucky she's only wee thing, I managed to catch her just before she fell in."

"Lucky?" Stephen laughed, but he had that glint—that glint that told the whole crew to get the hell out of his way and fast. "I'll be back to deal with ye lot shortly... perhaps just launch yer'selves overboard now." He spat, pulling Bree's arms over his shoulder. With no Struggle at all, he was up with the unconscious redhead in tow.

As he walked down the passageway below deck and stared down at Bree's lifeless body, his anger started to diminish. He'd finally begun making progress with her, only to nearly lose her to the very thing he loathed and feared with every fibre of his body. His crew, though usually foolish, he'd expected more from. How could they have been so foolish? They'd nearly cost him the one thing he couldn't buy or steal.

Walking quickly and silently down to the galley, he pushed the swinging door open with a blow of his boot. He rushed in and carefully spilled Bree onto one of the longer tables. "Wake her up woman!" he looked impatiently to Mrs Nelly who had been startled by his hasty entrance.

"Aye Captain," She rushed over with a whoosh of her skirts. For a larger and older woman, she was at Brianna's side in an impressive amount of time. Gazing down at her she accessed the damage, "Lucky lass, she is... missin' death by only a 'air, she murmured under her breath. Leaning over, the unconscious redhead, she placed a stick of smelling salts under her nose. Seconds later Brianna begun to stir, slowly she opened her eyes, but was soon blinded by only the faintest of candlelight. Her pounding head caused her to wince and place a comforting had on the bleeding bump on the top of her forehead.

" _Ow_ ," she mumbled, successfully opening her eyes enough to see a very displeased captain looking down at her.

" _Aye, ow._ " Stephen couldn't look away from her, Blackened irises practically burnt into her skin. He squeezed a fist, attempting to brace himself. If he didn't, another fight would undo all their progress.

Bree eased herself into a sitting position, then tried to swing her legs over the edge of the table, but Stephen stopped her with a firm hand to her shoulder. "We have some chattin' to do," he was serious, his tone suggested it wouldn't be a chat, it would be an argument. "Would you leave us," Stephen demanded to Mrs Nelly, not taking his eyes off of Bree for even a second.

"Of course, Captain. I'll take the Wee babe with me, get him some milk from one the goats... then Mistress Fraser may rest." Before Bree could protest, the old woman was gone with her baby in clutch.

There was a long and awkward silence, a stand-off of staring between the pair. Both knowing an argument was right on the brink of beginning. Stephen finally raised an eyebrow- then a smirk of extreme distaste. "What in the bloody hell were ye thinkin'? he blurted out, eyes like daggers awaiting her answer.

"I was trying to help with the sails... I slipped, I guess... I don't know it happened really fast... To be honest, I don't know how I'm not at the bottom of the ocean right now." She tried to swing her legs over again, this time successfully.

"Well ye should be dead, eaten by some sea creature! —do ye know what happens when ye fall overboard on a ship? ... _Der's no savin ye Brianna_." His original angered tone faded out into some type of hopelessness. What was this emotion he was feeling? It wasn't anger anymore, it was something that made his chest feel tight and his eyes burn. Anger was a much easier emotion to feel. "Ye'd either be sucked under... or drawn out." Deciding to rid himself of this ache, he allowed his temper to rise.

Standing now, he began to pace circles around the room, "I can't allow this to go unpunished, my crew know better than to let women climb out of the ship!" Frustrated to a new level, he stomped over to where Bree was perched against the table. "Ye've cost me my first mate because of yer foolishness!"

"I am just as capable as any man to hang a fucking sail Stephen! I'm not an idiot!" And with that said, she too stood up and launched herself right into his face. His size didn't even seem to frighten her anymore, "and you can't punish them for something that I've done!... They had nothing to do with it!"

Stephen had well and truly passed the confinements of anger. Bree had seen his eyes dark and furious before, but the way his bottom lip began to twitch, made her think swearing and yelling at him may have push him too far. Roughly he wrapped his hands around the small of her waist and yanked her into him. Narrowing his eyes, he bent his head down even further when he spoke. "Women are already bad luhck aboard a ship, and now ye've gone and done dis."

"I WAS TRYING TO HELP." Pointlessly, Bree tried to free herself from his grasp. But instead of tightening the hold with his hands, Stephen flexed his biceps to keep her steady. It then occurred to Bree that he'd done so to prevent hurting her. _Jesus, maybe was really trying to be more tolerant? Gentle even?_

Still, he ensured he kept his grip strong enough that she couldn't get enough leverage to shove or push him away. With the acceptance that she wouldn't be able to free herself, Bree began to grow restless, powerless, frustrated. Throwing her head back in defeat, she screeched, "I AM THE MOTHER OF YOUR SON AND I DEMAND MORE RESPECT THAN THIS."

Stephen laughed and smiled through the hindrance that he too had been feeling. Seconds later, the laugh left, and an unreadable expression overcame his face... shock, hope... _no victory._

She'd finally admitted it, _Aidan_ _was_ _his_ , whether she liked it or not, they were tied together. A part of Brianna belonged to him and he'd have that piece of her forever. In that moment he wanted to have all of her, it was the most absurd sudden rush of power and adrenaline he'd ever felt.

"Mother of my son, yes. –But then why not be my wife?" Her demand left him with a question he wanted answered. The truth was, if she'd been his wife, he'd have done just about anything for her—given her anything she desired.

Bree couldn't believe it; she was sure he would have lost it after her outburst. But instead it seemed to have warmed him, brought him back into the light. "If I marry you... _become your wife_ , will you leave Wesley and Agnus alone?"

Had he won? Was she agreeing? "Are ye sayin' ye'll be my wife?" His eyes were glistening once again, moving his hands from waist to her hands, he took them between his and moved the arrangement close to his chest.

"Yes, under a few conditions." Bree's eyes met his, " _One_. You can't harm any of the men for this, it was my idea, and mine alone. _Two_. You have to promise me you will take me back to Inverness after Jamaica. And _three_ , you cannot ask me anymore questions about what I am... And I'm saying this .... Because truthfully, it isn't safe... for anyone."

Stephen squinted in surprise at her last term but wouldn't push the envelope on something he'd been wanting since day one. "Aye, your terms are fair-- but when you say ye'll be my wife—" He started but was stopped before he could continue any further. Bree knew he'd ask—she'd prepared herself for it. She stopped him mid-sentence with a small and silencing hand to his mouth.

"Yes, I'll fulfil _all_ my wifely duties." Like music to his ears, not quite the perfect outcome he'd had in mind, but it was a start. There was Just one more small negotiation needed, "I'd like to 'aggle a bit on that last part _darlin_." He smirked, "...I'll not ask you about the ship, should we suddenly arrive in Jamaica faster than planned... But I do ask, that ye tell me whatever it is that ye're hiding before we depart again."

Well, at least it gave her some more time to come up with a compelling story. "Okay," she sighed, "deal." A small smile formed on her lips. She couldn't tell what it was, but in that moment, she almost thought she could have told him. He looked as if she could have told him anything and he would have believed it.

"Don't ye know the power ye have over me?" He released her hands to move them to either side of her face, commanding her attention. "I can't 'ave ye fallin' off the ship... _I need ye._ "

Bree was surprised when she looked up into his eyes to see a gentleness in them. "Well I've got to have some kind of power over you, don't I? Otherwise I'd be dead."

" _Brianna_ ," he lowered his face even closer to her now plump and parted lips, "I'll never harm ye again... and if I ever tried to... Curse me-- curse me with whatever fairy power you possess."

"I'm not a fairy." She rolled her eyes, her smile widening ever further. His imagination really was something else.

"Ye're as beautiful as a fairy, I'm sure of dat."

"Have you ever seen one?"

"Nah."

"Then... how do you know?"

"Because I've got one in front of me now, dat's how," He smirked a handsome smile.

"My mother used to tell me stories of fairies, they were always beautiful, clever and cunning. Dat's you isn't it?"

Bree laughed, an honest laugh. The more sincere Stephen's answer became, the less she seemed to be able to hold it in. It was unclear as to whether Stephen was able to laugh at himself or truly didn't understand why tears of laughter appeared in Brianna's eyes.

He hadn't joined in, but his smile widened, soaking in every second of her happiness and unhinged amusement. It was in fact the very first time he'd inflicted honest, genuine contentment from her.

As her laughter faded out his stare became serious and his eyes soon travelled from her eyes to her lips, to her heaving bosom. Her breathing quickened when she had calculated his next move. He was going to kiss her, it would be the first time since their fight in his office.

"Do ye think I could kiss ye, without 'avin' my face clawed off?" He whispered hoarsely, his eyes never leaving her lips. "Perhaps to seal our negotiation?"

Bree watched as Stephen licked his top lip in anticipation at the thought. Heat rose from her middle to her thighs. No matter how much of a nasty bastard he was, he was still an undeniably attractive man. His body made to perfection, from his chiselled, rugged features to his tall and domineering stature. - Built strong. A strength she was beginning to realise he'd use for her and Aidan's protection. She noted that part of the attraction had to be something primal, natures sick and twisted game.

Stephen's lips on hers was something she couldn't deny she wanted to feel, even if it was a tad sadistic. "Since when do you ask, I thought you took what you wanted, no matter the cost?" She still felt fight in her, why was she sabotaging the moment?

"Since I want to feel the difference. That difference ye showed me." Pale green orbs sought approval in her golden ones, "yer eyes glow like Irish whiskey, did ye know dat?" he whispered into her ear, invoking a shiver through her entire body. Leaning back, his eyes found their way back to hers. He had to ensure she knew he was changing. "Ye're mystical to me Brianna. I want the world's most precious gem, and dat's you _. I want_ _you_." He hovered his lips over hers and this time he didn't leave bats, but butterflies instead.

Goddamn this man and his charming ways. Bree couldn't help herself; small, soft hands snaked their way from his broad chest to his face. Holding him still for a moment she looked back and forth between his eyes, judging his sincerity. Once pale green eyes were turning the colour of the most rare and greenest emeralds, he was full of lust and need, yet he controlled himself.

So, Bree let it go. All the fear, confusion and pain. She smashed his lips down onto hers and forced him into a searing kiss. Stephen pulled back for only a second, shocked beyond belief. He studied her face for a moment, when he saw only desire and no regret, his lips came crashing back down onto hers. His hands pulled her into him even closer than before, clenched, and strong around the small of her waist once again. Rough and calloused, they travelled up to the front of her dress and began to fumble, searching for anyway in. 

Equally as hungered, Bree tangled mischievous and hungry hands into the belt of his pants, pulling the clasp to release it. Stephen pulled back and stared down at her, checking to see if he hadn't imagined what was happening. It was real, she wanted him. Flushed cheeks, kiss swollen lips and haggard breathing confirmed it, _she actually wanted him._

Their height difference soon became a hinderance as Stephen craned his neck down to dart his tongue further into her mouth. Bree stood on tip toes to assist, but it wasn't much help. He lifted her, one arm around her waist the other cleared off the galley's table to make room for what was to come.

But it seemed the moment the backs of Bree's legs touched the timber behind them, she awakened from her trance. " _Stop_ ," she broke their kiss, " _I-I- can't."_ she stuttered, shakened and afraid it would have seemed. She pushed him back slightly with her palms, and he obliged her. Crinkled eyebrows said he wanted an explanation though. Bree didn't say anything, she only glanced back and stared down at the table behind them. " _What is it?_ ...did I hurt ye?" he asked softer this time. A few more seconds of awkward silence and he had worked it out, "it's because of the tavern isn't it?... because of what I did to ye?"

So there is was, clarity smacking Stephen Bonnet straight between the eyes. The exact point in time he had finally grasped a fraction of the damage he had caused her. " _I'm sorry._ " He muttered, his face disappointment and displeasured, looking down to his feet, he was unable to look at her.

"I'm a _monster_ , aren't I?" he growled to himself, "do ye tink you will ever be able to forgive me?" he dared to look at her again.

"I don't know, _sometimes_... I think I can.... Othertimes I think _never_... and then there's times I think I _already_ _have_." She half smiled briefly, wiping a tear peeping out from her eye.

"I don't want ye to fear my touch." He paused, grabbing her hands back into his. "I want ye to be happy with me.... And if that means not touchin' you until ye're ready, then I'll do it." He was sure as soon as the words came out of his mouth he'd regret them, but he needed and desired her trust.

"Really?"

"Aye."

"Thank you for that. And thank you for the apology."

"Now come on," he smiled, wrapping a hand around her waist, pulling her off the table. "Let's go and find our son."

When Bree and Stephen arrived on deck, dawn seemed to be approaching. Looking back into the distance, she could no longer see the 'Revenge.'

"Captain!" Wesley shouted, "If we keep this pace up, we'll be in Jamaica by tomorrow mornin."

**A/N: Happy medium of sauciness guys? I'm sorry I know it's a such a slow burn, but I've got to keep it real. Why do you think our heroine agreed to the marriage? Next chapter we will be in Jamaica! I am so damn excited for that. A LOT will happen in the next chapter, it will either be a really long one or I'll cut it into two. Not sure yet.**


	16. “Jamaica”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yep, this has taken me a ridiculous amount of time to write, but in all fairness, I really did my research. And it’s 8000+ words, so please don’t be mad. I thought about making it two parts but decided against it. I know it is probably way too long and I apologize for that. I probably could have cut a lot out too, but I just couldn’t seem to find anything to sacrifice. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this and it doesn’t disappoint. As always feedback is cherished.  
> Please note, I do not speak Gaelic, so if anyone reading this does, and there are any errors, please excuse them.  
>  **Warnings: Coarse Language, Explicit sexual content, if you don’t like that then don’t read the ending.**

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or ideas from Outlander. They belong to Diana Gabaldon. I also do not any of the wedding vows in this chapter, they are historical and collected from a variety of sources. **

** Chapter 16: “Jamaica” **

**Port of Montego Bay, British Colony of Jamaica, September 1770**

Claire and Jamie had been somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean when Bree had begun the preparations for her wedding day. _Her wedding day._ A day meant to be the happiest and most memorable of her life. What she would have done to have had her mother there with her. To have her father walk her down the aisle, to give her away to a man—a good man. But hell, who was she kidding? There wasn’t anything traditional about this union. A bastard child, a marriage to a man she was certain thought of her as property—and a pirate just to add a cherry on top of the situation.

Inverness was still in the back of her mind, but that was where it remained. A life with Stephen seemed to be becoming more and more tangible every day that they grew closer together. Accompanying Inverness in the depths of her mind, were also the variety of reasons as to why she had agreed to marry Stephen. Sure, she didn’t want the blood of Agnus and Wesley on her hands. And sure, the persuasion she’d have over Stephen would skyrocket once they said, ‘I Do.’ But what about some of the _ones_ that did little to benefit her _situation?_ The ones that made her stomach churn and tighten like a closed fist.

_Feelings._

Feelings towards him that were changing, becoming fuzzy, confused, and uncertain. The glimpses of vulnerability were becoming an everyday occurrence. At first, she’d thought it was only some kind of manipulation to get what he wanted, but the more she saw of it, the more it became obvious he was trying. Really trying to be what her and Aidan needed him to be. As rough around the edges as he was, he was gentle and nurturing to his son. The son that he proved he had wanted, with every look and every carefully awkward rough touch. That notion messed with her head more than anything.

She wanted to hate him, really, she did.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken Bree much convincing to acknowledge that marrying Stephen was the right decision. The eighteenth century was an unforgiving time for a young, unmarried woman with a small child. Even as proud a woman as Bree was, she could admit Aidan would be safer having his father’s name. Besides, if she did return to her own time, Stephen would no longer exist making their marriage non-existent. There was always that comfort.

Just as Wesley had predicted, they had arrived in the Port of Montego bay just over a day after Bree had made the alterations to the ship. Every part of Stephen’s behaviour suggested his suspicions, he’d been racking his brain for hours trying to decipher Bree’s big secret. No prying as he’d promised, but he watched her every move just looking for any sign that would give him the answers he was desperate to know. Bree of course played along as if she hadn’t noticed; there was nothing unusual or sinister about it, she’d simply modified the ship using plain and simple physics. And that was the God’s honest truth. Physics had existed since the beginning of time; it was just that a lot of people didn’t know how to harness it yet. She was incredibly thankful that Stephen hadn’t pushed her for more information because there wasn’t a single excuse or story, she could think of, that would satisfy his questions. She was running out of time to come up with a concrete and plausible story.

 _So there she was,_ standing inside the ships cabin, making her preparations to take on the name of a man who quite possibly was a monster. “ _Mrs. Bonnet,_ ” she tried it on under a mumble.

There was no backing out now, she’d given her word and negotiated the terms. She was marrying Captain Stephen Bonnet and she prayed to every higher power that he wouldn’t suddenly turn on her, treating her like an old toy the moment they said, _“I do.”_

Even despite the mixture of emotions about the day ahead of her, Bree was more than a little excited to vacate the ship. She loved adventure and the idea of investigating a foreign land, was a little too fascinating to ignore. Mrs Nelly had informed her earlier that morning, Stephen had departed the ship to attend to “business.” He had given her and Wesley specific instructions to bring Brianna and Aidan to a small chapel where he would be waiting for them that afternoon.

“Wives are good for a captain,” Mrs Nelly flashed a warm and nurturing grin, “they keep a captains head calm and make them kinder to the crew.” She patted Bree’s shoulder tenderly as she threw the pale and silky wedding gown up over Bree’s head. “Especially when they look like ye.”

“Thank you,” Bree looked down to her feet, hiding the new blush on her cheeks.

“Ye really do look beautiful, Mistress Brianna. The captain won’t know what to do with himself when he sees ye.” She smiled to herself this time, straightening out the elaborate gown’s skirt. _And what a gown it was._ The easiest and simplest way to describe it would be ‘fit for royalty.’ The colour, a dark ivory, layers of the thickest and most luminous silk. Gold and pastel blue embellishments were patterned throughout. The sleeves and edges dangled in the finest lace. Bree wasn’t aware as to how it had magically appeared in the cabin that morning, but she was soon learning that Stephen liked the finer things in life. That included ensuring his future wife looked every inch the part as well.

“Let me tell ye love… I certainly didn’t look the way ye do after having any of my babes.” She snickered, staring down at Bree’s barely visible waist. “If it is a potion that keeps yer youth, perhaps give a small share to this old bat?”

“No, no… potions, I guess I’m just lucky…” Bree laughed back, hesitant, and uncomfortable at the compliment. “Thank you for helping me get ready today… I really do appreciate your help… if I’m honest… I’m a little nervous and it’s nice to have some company.” Bree’s red hair whooshed back suddenly, grabbing Mrs Nelly’s hands, she stopped her to demand her attention. She had to ensure she understood her gratitude.

“It’s not a problem at all,” she patted Bree’s hand with an old and wrinkled one, “what are we thinkin’ we’ll do with yer hair?”

“Oh, I hadn’t really thought of it…”

Pressing a hand to her chin, the old bat weighed in, “well I suppose… an updo with a tendril loose down the bottom?” She didn’t wait for a reply, quickly she gathered Bree’s tangled locks in a fist and made work of the knots. Bree winced at the brashness, but in between clenched eyes she could see there was a question clearly pressing on her fairy God mother’s mind. “So, tell me love… are ye weddin’ the captain only to spare the crew, or because ye actually want to?” No amount of tiptoeing could hide the sympathy in her voice.

Bree closed her eyes and released a breath she didn’t even known she was holding in. Her mind shifted an answer quickly back and forth inside her head. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t edgy and a _little afraid…_ but, since I’ve been in the _p-pa—I mean… here…_ There’s so much adventure… if you told me a year ago that I would be here about to do this… I…I… wouldn’t believe you. I guess I sort of feel like a belong here in a sense.”

“Well I think if anyone can handle the captain, it will be ye.”

*

To think the swaying would have stopped when Bree had exited the ship was a very ignorant thought. It was an odd sensation to still feel the land rock back and forth beneath her. She hadn’t been given more than a second to gather her bearings either, before Mrs Nelly was trying to herd her into the carriage awaiting them. “I want to walk,” Bree crossed her arms to her chest, “I need the fresh air and the walk will help settle my nerves.” She took a deep breath of the thick and aromatic tropical air of Jamaica.

“Fine lass, but if we’re late the captain won’t like it.” Bree watched as Wesley spoke to the coachman and before she had time to uncross her indignant arms they were weaving in and out of the traffic of people. “Hurry love! Trust me when I say that cap’ain doesn’t appreciate tardiness!”

“Isn’t it tradition for the bride to be a little late,” Bree struggled to say, while trying to keep her arm in its socket. Just a moment to take in her surroundings was really all she wanted.

“Aye I suppose it is lass, but this is a special arrangement. An Irish catholic priest isn’t very common around here… and the captain insisted the condition.”

“Oh.” Bree certainly hadn’t taken Stephen to be the type to appreciate tradition. Yet another thing that shocked the hell out of her.

After about ten minutes of being dragged along many different faces, buildings and smells, they finally stopped in front of a small church, a chapel. It was old, and historical, it didn’t quite fit in with everything else that seemed foreign and temporary. Stained glassed windows were modest but biblical. The rest of the building felt cold amongst the tropical environment, given that it was made of stone.

“Are ye ready lass? It will just be me and Wesley inside as witnesses,” Mrs Nelly said, straightening and smoothing the redheads few frazzled curls. “Here take a swig love—it will help with the shakes.” The pity was written all over her face, and Bree hated it. It made her worry even more that she was making the wrong decision, but even she couldn’t deny that her hands were shaking like leaves from the nerves.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Swallowing a very generous swig, she winced as the hot liquid ran down her throat. Once it had settled, she took another, then another. Then slowly she transferred Aidan into Mrs Nelly’s arms. “Thank you,” she forced a smile.

“The priest won’t like the babe being born out of wed lock, perhaps it’s best we say he isn’t yours.”

“I think lying in a church would be worse, wouldn’t it? Besides, I think it’s pretty obvious who he belongs to.”

“Aye, I suppose you’re right, let’s just hope he doesn’t ask. Come to think of it… The captain is paying him enough, that he most likely won’t.” And with that said, Bree bit the bullet and with both hands pushed through the heavy oak doors.

It was a short aisle; she wasn’t even sure it could be classified as one. And right at the end, standing at the altar, was her husband to be. She could tell even before he had turned around that she would struggle to find anything repulsive about him.

The sound of the door slamming shut brought all eyes onto Bree. It was then she noticed Stephen resembled less of a pirate and more of prince charming from a fairy tale. His clothing nearly matched hers, in colours and fabric. His cravat perfectly placed around his neck. Hair bound and pulled so neatly behind, it almost looked slicked back. He was clean shaven and for the first time since she’d known him, he’d definitely had a proper bath. The scar from temple to ear, looked more dashing against his rugged features than ever before. He was unmistakably handsome and became even more so when he flashed a smile that made his dimples crease and his eyes sparkle a radiant mint green.

Bree internally snorted at herself for comparing him to a prince-- there was nothing “prince-like” about this man. The charming part however was entirely accurate. He’d no doubt charm her right out of her clothes that very night, and now there really was nothing she could do about it. A marriage certificate in the eighteenth century, gave him every right to do so.

The smile on Stephen’s face was quickly replaced by a furrowed brow. It set a ball of confusion and uncertainty in the pit of Bree’s stomach. That churning stomach she’d been experiencing all morning soon vanished when she reached him. Stephen reached out his hand to her and a smile once again took over his face. It lit up the entire room, it was that rare and peculiar.

“Ye look _so_ beautiful, _like a fae._ ” He said so softly she almost didn’t hear it. Breathing heavily, she allowed him to take both her hands into his. Heavy and warm they brought comfort in the situation, a gravity to keep her from shaking.

If Stephen was nervous, he didn’t show it. He couldn’t peel his eyes off her. He stared at Bree in a sort of disbelief throughout the priest’s entire Latin spiel. She thought that maybe he didn’t understand a word of it either, but he certainly knew what was to come next. Latin soon transitioned into English and she was forced to refocused on the event unfolding.

 _“I Stephen Patrick Bonnet, take you Brianna Ellen Fraser as my wife,_ _  
for better, or for worse,  
for richer, or for poorer,  
in sickness and in health,  
until death us do part.”_

Had she been paying attention? The way everyone was now looking at her told her it was her turn. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, then reopened them, prepared to reciprocate.

 _“I-I- B-Brianna Ellen Fraser,” she paused, voice shaking, “take you Stephen Patrick Bonnet as my husband,_ _  
for better, or for worse,  
for richer, or for poorer,  
in sickness and in health,  
until death us do part.”_

When she was finished, Brianna looked up to see that Stephen still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. There was a look in his eye she hadn’t seen before, warm and comforting even. _Safe._ She half expected him to change his mind, decide that a wife really was a liability, but it was so clear that he wanted this for whatever the reason.

The vows were finished, and the priest set his sights on the small piece of metal he held in his hand. _“A Thiarna, beannaigh na fáinní seo. Deonaigh go mbeidh siad seo a chaithfidh iad dílis dá chéile i gcónaí. Go ndéana siad do thoilse agus go gcaithe siad a saol faoi shíocháin leatsa agus i ngrá lena chéile. Trí Chríost ár dTiarna.”_ _  
_

_“The ring,”_ He prompted gently. Bree watched as the cloaked man placed it into Stephen’s oversized hands. A light tug away from Brianna’s hands made him realise how frozen she really was. He practically had to pry her hands away from his to place it on. She couldn’t help the nerves they made her grip onto him like he was a dose of valium. Her eyes snapped away from his at the gesture and she watched as he gently slid the circle onto her ring finger. A perfect fit somehow. How the hell had he managed to organise that so quickly?

It was a traditional Irish wedding ring, Bree identified it almost immediately. A simple piece of silver with three very significant characters. _A claddagh._ The heart in the middle representing love, the hands on either side representing friendship and the crown on top as loyalty.

_Love, friendship, and loyalty. Could they ever have all that?_

After the ring, she surrendered herself over to what she believed were Celtic traditions. Internally she panicked, but hid it well, when Wesley came over with his dagger. A small wince was all she allowed to shine through of her fear when he sliced a small wound open on each of their wrists. Next the priest wrapped their wrists in multiple cloth ribbons and formed a figure eight, then prompted them to repeat his words to seal their bond.

 _“Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone._ _  
I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One.  
I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done.”  
  
_

They repeated the words to each other one after the other. Never dropping the fierce entrapment that seemed to have captured them both. There was passion and understanding for each of them in every single syllable. Bree once again forgot who the man in front of her was, completely caught in the romance of the moment and ritual of their vows. It was beautiful and sacred and no matter what happened afterwards, she’d remember it for the rest of her life.

Just as she had thought they had reached the end of the ceremony the priest took a breath and began yet another prayer of some sort. This time in English, “may the meaning of this hour be fulfilled through the days and years to come. May the love of this man and this woman, their unity of spirit, grow deeper and stronger in the uncertainties and changes of life they will share.

Loving each other, may they love all persons. Trusting each other, may they learn to trust life. May their love reach out to the love of all, that their lives may bless all whose lives they touch. May they find comfort together in shared hours of shadow, as well as in the bright sunshine of joy. May they be to each other both strong and gentle. May all who follow their lives with interest and affection have cause to rejoice not alone in their happiness, but in their brave and generous living which makes life beautiful and significant.” It’s an Irish weddin’ prayer, Stephen whispered noticing her confusion.

“It’s beaufiful,” Bree nodded, widening her eyes as far as they would go. It was an attempt to conceal the tears that had suddenly welled up.

_“Cuisle mo chroí, amhrán m'anama, solas mo oíche”_ Stephen’s spoke to her, his voice was low and hoarse, but that only added to the roar of emotion that shone through with it. Bree had no idea what it meant, but she was certain it was some dialect of Gaelic.

Everything after that became a blur. However, the words “Husband and Wife” were noticeably clear, as was the very possessive kiss that followed. The distinct ringing of a bell was in her ear and when she snapped her head around, in confusion she saw Mrs Nelly obnoxiously clanging it around as if her life depended on it. “For luhck,” Stephen explained, “warns off de evil spirits lurkin’ about.” Bree nodded her understanding, as Stephen led her over to a small table where Wesley and Mrs Nelly were now standing. After the signing of their marriage certificate she then felt as though she’d floated out of the chapel’s door and into the sunset.

*

There was no walk to the tavern, the same horse and carriage as before, was waiting outside for them. Mrs Nelly and Wesley dismissed themselves, explaining they had much to do and would meet later in the evening. Bree didn’t bother to fight the ride this time, her feet were throbbing. As gorgeous as her matching silk slippers were, they were the devil themselves.

After learning that the tavern was a good fifteen minutes away, Bree took the opportunity to slip out of the top of her dress to give Aidan a quick feed. It may have been unladylike, but it had to happen. And of course, being the pervert that Stephen was, he didn’t object and watched with a self-righteous smirk on his face. Bree rolled her eyes but swept it under the rug and began to ask him questions about what would be happening going forward.

She was surprised to learn that he was more than just your average smuggling pirate. He had a house on the far side of town next to the water. It appeared he travelled to Jamaica more often than he led on. He explained that the Gloriana was hidden inside an inlet, were Wesley and the rest of the crew would set up camp and guard it. Blackbeard would struggle to find the hiding spot even though he too, was familiar with the land.

“So, it will _just be us_ in this ‘house’ then?” she asked a little more hesitantly than she’d hoped.

“Aye, just us. And our son.”

Bree nodded, biting her bottom nervously at the thought. _There would be no one to hear him murdering her._

“Brianna,” he leant forward to pull her hand into his, “ye’re my wife, I’ll not ‘arm you, ye know that… don’t ye?” he crinkled his brow in question, almost offended by her fear. “And ye must not run, ye run… and Blackbeard gets to you --to my son… If don’t find ye in time, he’ll kill you. Both of you maybe. –and I…”

“I-I,” he placed his other hand on top of hers, what was so hard for him to say? “I don’t know what I would do if that were to happen… maybe slaughter anyone in my path from that day forward.”

Bree was shocked by that comment, to think a darkness could be lingering in someone and she’d be the reason to set it free was touching in a tragic kind of way. “I won’t run—I promise. If you too-- honour your vows.”

Stephen smiled, “good.” He placed his hands behind his head and leant back into the seat. “We probably have a couple of days before his arrival. --In the meantime, let’s just try and enjoy the wonderful land dey call Jamaica, shall we?” Noticing Aidan was finally finished his meal he then asked, “can I ‘old my son now?”

A month ago, she would have hesitated, but today things were different, and all her reservations seemed to have evaporated. Reaching forward, she passed Aidan over into his father’s exceptionally large and welcoming arms. “Be careful, he’s a loaded pistol,” she laughed, “it’s not below him to projectile vomit all over you after he’s had his lunch.”

Stephen chuckled but still decided to take his chances. Moments later the carriage came to a halt and the coachman was around the side opening the door with a hand stretched out for Bree to take.

*

Their “reception” was held in nothing more or less than an Irish tavern. There was plenty of food and drink and honestly there wasn’t much more that Bree wanted than a very stiff drink. She was going to need it if she was going to tackle the task of consummating her marriage. She wanted to completely shudder at the thought but heat in her cheeks and belly prevented her from it. She could only hope it would be different from before, gentle, and considerate. Two things Stephen Bonnet hadn’t possessed a year ago. How much can someone change in such a short space of time?

Many, many whiskey shots later and Bree could no longer hold onto Aidan without the risk of dropping him. Apparently, that had been made obvious because as soon as she tried to stand, Mrs Nelly was whisking him out of her arms and into her very judgemental bosom. “Mistress, it’s hardly fittin’ for ye to be in this state!” Bree’s eyes scanned the room, taking in her surroundings. The crew members that had joined them were sprawled throughout the old and dingy pub. They were all drunk and disorderly! Did she really need to be ladylike? It didn’t look like Stephen gave two shits either way.

“Yeah well… _Liquid courage_ ,” She justified her actions with a rebellious smirk. Cheering the air with yet another shot of yellow something she shouted, “Slàinte!” _Screw it_ , she was as drunk as a skunk and done being miserable. She was going to enjoy her night and indulge in way too much food and drink.

 _Actual food:_ Hot chickens, potatoes, actual vegetables, and cake. She really couldn’t have resisted it, if she tried.

“Slàinte!” they all cheered and shouted back. Stephens face was pleasantly surprised by her enthusiasm and unexpected twist of tongues. Although Bree had told him she was half Scottish he hadn’t expected her to understand a single word of Gaelic. Especially since Irish and Scottish dialects were different. She really was full of surprises.

The evening pressed on, becoming louder and more disorderly. It had to have been pushing past midnight when Stephen had stood and leant a surprising hand to Bree, “ _will ye dance with darlin?”_ He asked with a childlike look on his face.

Bree’s eyes swept the room once again, noticing that everyone was in fact still completely intoxicated. Several men and women were already dancing, laughing amongst themselves. Really how could she say no, when he was standing there with his outstretched hand like a sixteen-year-old boy at a high school dance. “O-of course,” she said, placing her hand into his.

The music playing in the background was just as disorderly as the group of seamen and women dancing to it. Towering over her, Stephen pressed her so close to him she felt breathless for a moment. She laughed so honestly and wholeheartedly as he spun her around the room like some sort of cloth doll. She tripped over her own feet, and with it her elegant updo followed in suit. Red hair whipped in all directions, as Stephen balanced her in a tight hold, never stopping to continue his left footed dance. Onlookers would have thought Bree hadn’t weighed more than a broomstick. Herhead fell back in laughter from the silliness of it all, and with her laughter Stephen’s crows feet and dimples followed in a boyish smile.

It was the first time in the eighteenth century where Bree wasn’t thinking about home. She was happy. She was having fun. The more she laughed and snickered the more Stephen smiled and chuckled. It was contagious, and it went on like that for a good solid hour, until neither could catch their breath.

“It’s worth it to be a fool, when ye laugh at me like that.” He sat and pulled her onto his lap.

“ _I-zza-a_ little drunk,” Bree admitted.

“Aye, yes, ye are. And dat is fine, Mrs Bonnet.”

_Mrs Bonnet. Christ almighty. There it was._

A _“clang clang”_ snapped Bree from her epiphany and she was thankful for it. As a couple toasts began, she reached across to Mrs Nelly and pulled Aidan into her arms. A dogpile formed on top of Stephen, if he minded, he didn’t show it. Had Bree been sober, there was no way she would have sat on his lap, but alcohol always seems to have a way of lowering a person’s inhibitions.

The speeches were biblical and generic, obviously formed from yet more traditions but lovely all the same. Lastly, Stephen motioned to say his piece, and when he did, Bree swore her heart palpitated momentarily.

 _“To my beautiful and glowing bride,”_ he raised his glass. _“I feel as though I may be the luhckiest man on dis Earth.” He paused and looked down to Bree, then to Aidan who was soundly sleeping through all the clatter. “Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead.  
Walk beside me and just be my friend. Ye are my light Brianna, and I don’t hope, I know, our ending will be different from our beginning. It’s my promise to ye.” _

He finished an undeniably tender moment with a bellowed, “Slàinte!” and with it, another shot of the finest of Irish Whiskies. Bree quickly swiped the tears from her eyes before anyone caught sight of them.

“Would ye like me to take the wee babe for tonight… so ye can enjoy the rest of the evenin’?” Mrs Nelly cocked her eyebrow; it was obvious she has other reasons for the suggestion. But just as Bree was going to object, she realised she didn’t have to.

“No. He’ll be with us, his parents-- where he’s safe.” There was no room for negotiation in Stephen’s tone. It was stern and final. “Would ye like to go now darlin’ the lad has his own room in our home.”

“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea, he’s already asleep.” Bree agreed, looking down at the sleeping baby in her arms. How babies could sleep in such a ruckus was baffling, but it never seemed to be an issue.

“Alright den, let’s go.”

*

  
The carriage ride to the house did little to sober Bree up. By the time they were exiting she had to lean onto Stephen to ensure she didn’t face plant into the gravel beneath them. Steadying herself, she looked up in shock to see that the house Stephen had described modestly, was more like a castle or villa on an abandoned island. It was spectacular. It boasted two stories, large romantic window panels and the surrounding walls she could only assume were white. That small factor was hard to tell on account of the thick tropical vegetation clouding almost the entire structure. There were dozens of lit torches surrounding the premises, giving the effect of some sort of film set.

All in all, it was incredible, and she couldn’t help but voice that. “This is amazing. Y-you own this?”

“Well what’s mine is yours now darlin’… “he smirked, “but yes, dis is one of my many houses that I’ve collected throughout my travels. It’s well hidden and the red coats don’t seem to raid it… Now comb on, let’s go inside.”

Bree held her breath and followed Stephen’s lead down the lit runway and into the house. And just like the outside, the inside was just as breathtaking. She had already begun planning a thorough investigation of the entire thing, it of course would have to wait until the light of day for the full effect.

Bree’s wide and misbelieving eyes gave away her shock without so much as a word. “Are ye impressed?” Stephen asked with a satisfied smirk.

“By the architecture and craftsmanship…. Yes… by the way in which you have most likely acquired it, not so much.” He snorted at that, but didn’t take much offense, he was a pirate there was no if, ands, or buts, about it.

Ten minutes later, Bree had tucked Aidan into bed. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow Stephen had managed to arrange an entire nursery in the space of one day. And having her baby right across the hall from hers and Stephen’s sleeping quarters gave her a great sense of relief.

Here they were, an entire two-story house in the middle of nowhere on the island of Jamaica. It was just the three of them now. Her heart raced at the thought of what was to happen next.

*

  
What the hell was this weird and unpleasant feeling? Jumpy and shaky, Stephen couldn’t seem to stop his foot from tapping away. He’d left Bree alone upstairs in their officially now shared room. He’d told her he was going to get another drink, and that hadn’t been a lie. A quick stop in Aidan’s room to ensure his window was barred shut and he headed down to the house’s kitchens.

He was nervous. Stephen Bonnet was nervous, and that was something that never happened, before, during or after the art of love making. Not that Stephen had ever classified his antics with that title.

But this time was going to be different, he’d promised himself that. He’d promised Bree that. He wasn’t paying for this union; Bree would have to give herself over freely to him. That was the reason he couldn’t sit or stand still. What an exhilarating feeling to be chosen by someone by their own freewill with nothing more than his comfort to gain from it.

If his relationship with Bree was going to last—and if he was going to make her happy, this night had to be different than anything he’d ever done before. He had to be gentle, kind, and selfless. Months ago, he would have found that idea to be a chore, but tonight, he was excited for it. So, he took another wee nip from his flask and headed back up the stairs to claim his bride. Hoping that she too would claim him back in return.

“Brianna?” he pushed the door open only a crack. Staring at herself in the mirror of the room’s vanity, she didn’t say a word back. There was confliction in her eyes, Stephen could tell she wasn’t just going to launch herself onto him like any old whore in a brothel.

He strode into the room and knelt in behind her. Taking his chances, he pulled her hair to one side to give himself access to her neck. Long, elegant, and birdlike he couldn’t help himself, lightly wrapping both hands around it, he began to kiss from ear to collar bone. Haggard breathing on both their parts ensued, encouraging Stephen to drop one hand down to her side, inspiring her to spin around on the stool to face him. She complied, with no objection, though her eyes still glimmered tawny with fear.

When he dropped both hands to her thighs and began drawing her shift upwards, she placed her hand onto of his and halted him. Pulling back from their now shared kiss, she caught her breath to speak. “What does _cuisle mo chroí, amhrán m'anama, solas mo oíche_ mean?... I heard you say it after the ceremony.” She asked, her eyes seeking more assurance from him.

“I thought ye had some Gaelic?” Stephen cocked a smug dimple and an eyebrow.

“Only a couple of words” she admitted, “… _what does it mean?_ ”

He was sure he’d regret this grand show of vulnerability later, but she needed it, she needed something to tell her it was okay. That it was okay to forgive him, that it was okay to give herself to him. _“_ _Pulse of my heart, song of my soul, light of my life_.” He whispered, keeping his eyes pegged to hers the whole time.

Bree stared into his deep pale green eyes for the longest time and the harder she stared the more she could see that tortured soul deep inside of him. “That’s beautiful,” she choked on her tears.

“Well it wasn’t meant to make ye cry woman,” he laughed, wiping a few fallen tears with scratchy obstinate thumbs.

A few more seconds of tears and she leapt towards him, stealing, and commanding the deepest of kisses they’d ever shared. The kiss told him, ‘I’m scared, I’m excited and I’m still protecting my heart-- but I’ll let my walls down tonight.’

“This doesn’t mean that I forgive you,” She murmured between his lips. Whether that was a lie or not, she did not know. The only thing she knew of for sure was that she was tired of fighting that pull. For whatever the reason that pull existed, and she planned to act on it this time. There was now a piece of paper which allowed her some sort of justification for it.

“I know,” he mumbled back, “but I’ll give ye reason to, if ye let me.”

First went his cravat, then his shirt was up and over his head. Still kneeling between Bree’s thighs, Stephen moved his hands up and under her shift growling at the sensation of creamy flesh beneath his abrasive fingertips. Meanwhile, like a wild animal Bree made work of his belt. Wrenching it in one swipe, it fell to the floor with a _clang._ That sound must have been a trigger for Stephen because in a matter of seconds he was standing and reaching down to yank Bree from the stool and into his chest. A hand went under each of her thighs and she was then mounted on to his waist. In two strides she was deposited on to the bed with a soft ‘poof.’ She watched through heavy eyelids as Stephen’s breeches fell to the floor leaving him in nothing but his birthday suit. And what a sight that was, everything was hard, chiselled, and strong. Including the erection between his legs.

“Sweet Jesus,” Bree gasped to herself, it was too late to change her mind now.

Flying, he advanced on her, resting his weight onto his elbows. Wasting no time, he made quick work of relieving her of her shift. All of Bree’s senses were fuzzy, her eyes were feathered shut. She shuddered breathing in the scent of whiskey and the one of a kind smell of Stephen Bonnet. Sea air and perhaps cigars on this occasion? That mixed with the humidity of the tropical climate surrounding them, she had completely drifted away. Her whole body was tingling and on fire. It was the only erotic moment of her life and she was sharing it with the man that had once been her violator. But today had proven to her that the man in the tavern that night was now gone, and in his place was a man who would do just about anything for her to make her happy. This new man was gentle, but rough, kind but dangerous. Bad but good. Except that he only shared the positives with her— dangerous to everyone but her and their son.

However, when she’d come out of her daydream and noticed her shift was off and on the floor, Bree suddenly felt very sobered. “I-I… You know... I haven’t really done this… like this… like… I haven’t… I don’t—” How the hell was she supposed to say it. Stephen had been her one and only time if you could even call that a “time.”

He broke away abruptly and leant up onto his arms, “What?” he creased his brow, had he heard that right?

“Well…yeah?” She rolled her eyes, “what did you think I sell myself at the local brothel in my spare time?” She mocked with a sarcastic shrug of her shoulders.

Stephen stared in silence, realising he had even more pressure on him to ensure this was done right. “Good,” he curtly nodded, then began the serious task of drinking in the sight of her. And what a sight she was _. She was perfect_. _His wife was perfect._ Skin like white satin, breasts that couldn’t possibly fit into his mouth in one go. Delicate and fragile, every inch of her body was angelic. He’d never seen anything like her in his entire life. “Ye look like an angel Brianna. I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful and as fair as ye.”

Bree covered her face with one hand and the other she placed on as much as her body as she could. “Don’t ye dare hide from me,” he growled, pulling her hands up over her head.

Twisting her wrists free, she palmed his chest in a panic. Pushing up she stammered, “I-I-I n-need to sit up-p,” her breathing nearly sounding like hiccups. “I need a bit more control than this.”

Stephen sighed in annoyance but complied. Rising onto his knees he grabbed her hands and hiked her up and with a quick and savvy manoeuvre, he threw her onto his lap to straddle him. “What possible trouble could I get up to wit ye on top of me like dis?” He asked with a cheeky half-smile.

She couldn’t help it, she smiled back, “God knows with you,” she said, playfully shoving his shoulder with her pointer finger. “This is better, thanks,” she was beginning to feel a little calmer.

“I know ye don’t know it, but ye have all the power, _all of it_.” His voice was hoarse and laced with lust. Leaning in he moved her auburn curls away from her neck and placed a kiss onto her shoulder. “I promised you I wouldn’t force myself onto ye, but Lord help me Brianna, with ye naked on top of me like dis, I’m really struggling.”

She did feel powerful in their current position, he was looking up to her. His eyes sparkled with a plea that she wouldn’t torture him any longer. “I just need a little more time, do you think you could just kiss me for a while?” She asked so softly, it was almost unheard.

Bree’s soft and milky skin pressed so tightly into his coarse and hard body was the most erotic moment of Stephen’s life. Soft against hard, warmth with warmth, feather light against the heftiness of a boulder, it was so many sensations all at once. It ignited every piece of carnal want and need within him. It was a moment that would remain in Stephen’s mind for the rest of his days.

The caresses to Bree’s lips, were far gentler than anything he’d ever thought he was capable of. They weren’t forced or rough with arousal; they were adoring. Savouring every minute of the hour leading until the morning. There was no rush, they had every night and every day of the rest of their lives. He could follow her pace, he could let her sit on top, he could let her control the situation, she owned him in more ways than one. It was exhilarating, sensual and terrifying, all at the same time.

Stephen knew when she was ready to take things up a notch, her hands snaked down from his neck past his shoulders, gliding down his chest. He groaned in response when she gently rubbed the protruding muscles of his thighs.

Bree had been content with her position on his lap, his hard member was between them, jutting into his abdomen. There would be no surprises, and she liked it that way. Stephen’s eyes fluttered open and closed and in his moment of bliss, groaning and mumbling words between their lips it was clear he’d had enough of the torture, “I’ve _got to_ ‘ave ye darlin’--I’m going to burst if I don’t.”

“O-o-kay.” She mumbled against his lips.

“Okay?” He couldn’t believe his ears, was she agreeing? He palmed her face and pulled it away to ensure he’d heard her correctly. “Now?” he furrowed his brow, “how do ye want it?”

“I don’t care… I just don’t want to be on my back.”

Not good enough, she was still scared, and he couldn’t have that. He’d promised himself; this was going to be done right. He needed to know she wanted it, he wanted her _to beg him for it._ Reaching under her thighs, he lifted her off him. Placing her onto the end of the bed, she sat up with her legs hanging over the edge. Rising from the bed, Stephen made his way to kneel in front of her. He was tall enough that their eyes aligned perfectly, “do ye tink you could trust me enough to close yer eyes, just sitting still like dis?” He asked gently, kneeling was a way of making himself smaller, less intimidating.

And it worked, “okay,” she agreed, slowly fluttering her eyes shut, she placed delicate hands on each of his shoulders. A sharp intake of breath found its way into her lungs when Stephen pulled her legs apart and hiked her bum partially off the bed. Moving her hands from his shoulders to the bed she braced herself to support her weight. She saw stars when she felt him kiss her heat in the same manner, he’d done to her mouth just moments before.

“What the hell are you doing!” She shrieked, one hand still on the bed the other fisting a handful of his now loosely bound hair.

He muffled some excuse into her and before she could object any further, he darted his tongue in as far as he could go. Ensuring the stars well and truly took over her entire body this time.

After that, Stephen entered a carnal state of being. The way Brianna eventually stopped caring about how inappropriate his act was, made him want her even more. Tasting and pleasuring a woman was something he’d never bothered to do before but found himself nearly spilling his seed at his first mouthful. The sight of the most perfect, pink centre he’d ever seen, made him growl a guttural noise of aroused hunger. She tasted like home and all the good things he’d been missing in his life.

Pinning his head between her thighs, Bree eventually let go of the bed and used him as an anchor to her pleasure. He knew she needed more than sucking and humming when her whole body shook and trembled, and her head fell back into the feathered mattress. Stephen released her from his torture only long enough to catch a glimpse of her. A glimpse of his work unfolded.

She had completely come undone. It was beautiful, faultless, and uncut. The only light in their room was provided from the moonlight that shone in from the window above their canopy bed. It glimmered against her breast like a shimmering waterfall of diamonds, a spotlight on the most stunningly crafted woman, that Stephen had ever laid his eyes on. Her hair fanned out, like splattered ink on a page, accidental but stunningly imperfect. She was breathtaking. It wasn’t just her feminine beauty that made him rock hard with desire, it was the trust. There was a small magnitude of trust between them, even if it was only for just seconds.

Back onto his knees, eyes pried open in hunger, he took her into his mouth once again. This time using two fingers, he separated her folds, stretching and hoping for a grand ending. She wiggled and writhed beneath him, crying out and gasping with each jab and taste from him. Until finally she couldn’t take it anymore. She needed him as much as he needed her.

Leaning up onto her elbows, she looked down at the man between her legs, crazed, starved and shattered before her. “I’m ready,” she breathed in shallow gasps, “I need more.” Peacocking his chest, in a swelling of male ego, he crawled back over top of her and true to his word, he didn’t force her onto her back. In one quick manoeuvre, he dug his fingers roughly into her rump and placed her down on top of him. Straddling him, Bree arched herself into him, seeking the needed friction between them.

“I want ye so bad Brianna, I can’t see straight anymore.” He held her face still between his palms, only releasing her to place a sloppy kiss onto her temple.

“That’s the whiskey clouding your vision,” she laughed, grasping the wide muscles of his shoulders.

Gripping her thigh, he lifted her slightly to align himself up with her entrance. Looking down at Stephen’s rock-hard erection gliding back and forth between her wet folds, Bree’s breaths become shallower, her bosom rising and falling quickly with each pant. “Is this going to hurt?” she asked, remembering their time before. She was healed from childbirth, but things in that department were different now and she couldn’t help but panic, especially given the size of the rather large member standing at attention before her.

“No darlin, it won’t hurt. And if it does ye can hit me as hard as ye want,” he struggled to say through haggard breathing.

Wet and ready beyond anything Stephen had ever witnessed in any woman before, he slid himself around Bree’s slickness a few times before slowly easing himself inside towards the hilt. His feet were on the ground beneath them, and he used its certainty and his muscled thighs to begin slow and gentle thrusts. He groaned when he entered her fully, unsure if he was going to be able to last more than a few seconds. Slow and gentle, was something he’d never done before. It was a struggle in his primitive state of need, but he took his time, kissing Bree each time she came crashing back down onto his shaft. It was sensual, passionate, and urgent, exactly the way Bree would have dreamt her first time to have been.

Much to Bree’s pleasure, Stephen was right, it didn’t hurt, it felt so damn good. “A little harderrr,” she moaned into his ear, not really comprehending the feeling she was chasing. Her teeth lowered to graze along his jaw, body shuddering against him, when he took his thumb down between them to rub along her most sensitive and secret spot.

Soon their rhythm became deeper and faster, removing his hands from her hips, he gave in to the perfect rounded breasts beneath him. Taking as much creamy flesh and nipple into his mouth as he could, he growled in satisfaction. There was far more of it than he could have ever imagined. “Stop!” Bree panicked, frantically pushing against the broadest part of his chest. “Trust me you don’t want to do that,” she panted, her mind still deeply clouded in pleasure.

“Aye I do,” Stephen muffled a growl into the valley of perfectly rounded softness. Noticing Bree still pushing away from him, he hesitantly gave in and moved his attention to suck and nip at the smooth lines of her neck. Moaning again, she began to ride against him faster as if trying to win a race. She clenched her eyes shut and threw her head back, so focused on every touch and sensation, “comb on darlin,” he coaxed, watching her every move, “dat’s right, just let yourself go.” He kissed her collar bone softly, “it’s alright to let go, I’ve got ye-- I’ll catch ye.”

She arched her back as far as it would go and knotted her eyes with so much tension it hurt. Then she finally let go. It was like a shockwave bursting through the entire room. Stephen was mesmerized by the sight of her coming undone so perfectly. That sight, mixed with the feeling of her walls clenching and tightening around him, was enough for him to meet his pinnacle of satisfaction. One, two, three powerful thrusts forward and he had reached inside her fully. Bursting and erupting, he emptied all of himself inside of Bree in pure and utter ecstasy. It may have only been hot seed, but to him, it was like relinquishing and bearing his very soul to her. He felt so completely helpless and vulnerable. Weak, yet so strong. Awake, yet dreaming.

He fell backwards, breathing frantically, rolling them onto their sides in a pile of mangled limbs. Desperate caressing ensured she was really there with him. He wasn’t dreaming, it was all real.

**A/N: Alright kids, I hope you all need a cold shower after that. I haven’t written a love scene in quite some time, so I hope that this was okay. I spent a lot of time on the wedding ceremony, I felt that it deserved a lot of attention, so I added some Irish wedding traditions and some Gaelic. I would love to hear your feedback, if you get a chance, I would appreciate even just a one lined comment regarding your thoughts.**


	17. “What are you?”

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or ideas from Outlander. They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: Please Ladies and Gentlemen, put away your pitchforks and catapults. I know I’m a jerk and this is soooo overdue. Please forgive me, life has gotten in the way of my writing.**

Warnings: Coarse Language, Violence and Sexual Content

Chapter 17: “What are you?”

There was no way Stephen could have predicted what would have happened next. Laying together in their tangled web of arms and legs, rough pressed so close to soft, Brianna shook against him like a man pulled from the North Atlantic. Warm droplets of moisture dampened his chest, and it was then that he finally realised she was in fact crying.

“What’s the matter darlin’?” He asked, craning his neck down to catch sight of her face.

Panic washed over him. 

_Did she regret it? Did she hate him even more now? Or did she hate herself for giving into him?_

“Nothing,” as quickly as she could she wiped away her tears.

“Did I hurt ye?” Stephen frowned so hard that wrinkles appeared on his forehead. “Tell me I didn’t hurt ye,” leaning up on his elbows he searched her face for confirmation. His voice was fearful and rough but there was no sign of any anger.

“No-- you didn’t hurt me … It was just…” Pausing for a moment she braced herself to finish her sentence, “it was just… r-really _…Nice_ … I guess I didn’t expect it to be like that, is all.”

The confusion Stephen felt from her confession couldn’t be contained. Was she disgusted with herself for allowing him to take her freely this time? “Wait…Ye’re cryin’ because ye enjoyed it?” Filled with pride Stephens cocky grin presented a dimple on either side of his face. Laughing he added, “…If I’m honest, I didn’t even know myself that it could be like that.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them-- And weren’t they the stone, cold, hard truth.

Who would have thought that engaging in female pleasure would burst his male ego to astonishing new heights. The thought put a smug grin on his face and made his heart swell. But for the life of him he couldn’t seem to understand why he had even cared if she’d enjoyed it or not. Regardless, at some point during their encounter, likely the beginning, it had become more important than his own climax. So, as it was, a pirate, a smuggler and overall cold-hearted criminal had somehow ended up here, completely clouded by lust and God knows what else.

However, it was the next act that Stephen would commit that would make him realise just how done for he really was. Completely out of character and downright madness, Stephen Bonnet was in fact cuddling. There would be no amount of pinching himself or internal chastization, that would stop him from continuing either. 

_Trapped. Possessed. Mine, he thought, as he pulled Bree in even closer to the crook of his arm. She smelled so good, felt so good. Too good. He’d never let them go and God rest any man’s soul who dared tried stop him._

Even despite the surprise in himself that he had the desire to hold Bree after their lovemaking, it didn’t scare Stephen off. Instead it gave him a warmness, a comforting welcome of familiarity. A void normally present began to seal up and close. That was truly the terrifying part of their whole relationship, because since that void had been filled, he didn’t know how he’d ever live with it being empty again. Nothing that felt so good could last forever. He should have gotten up, perhaps left a coin on the table, create his own normality. He wasn’t sure if it had been the wedding vows, or perhaps the relinquish of control, when Himself and Bree had been intimate. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t get close enough and he certainly couldn’t pull away.

“I don’t really know why I’m even crying... it’s like... I just feel like I’ve had a huge release of emotion, I can’t really explain it.” It appeared Bree couldn’t hold back the sobs, even though it was blatantly clear she’d rather claw her own eyes out than let Stephen see that vulnerability. From what Stephen had learnt about her during their time together, she was stubborn, private, and kept her cards close to her chest. “… It’s just started…” she choked, “and _now I-I c-can’t stop_.”

There was no point in trying to make her stop, so Stephen let her cry. She hadn’t elaborated as to what her tears were for, but he gathered they were for a variety of reasons. Tears of pain, tears of sadness and tears of joy. It was obvious they were long overdue, and she needed to let them out. Wrapping the bed sheet around them, he made a cocoon. Then cursed himself and prayed that she wouldn’t notice the newly found driftwood between his legs.

After what felt like a lifetime, finally, the tears stopped. She dried the last of the salty wetness against the backs of her hands. Composing herself, she leant up on one arm and looked up to his face. A little angry and little puzzled she blurted, “why all this trouble? Why… why… did _you want us_?” 

Stephen had never felt so exposed, it was as if she could see straight through him. His first instinct was to lash out, get angry. Violence and aggression had been his armour for longer than he could remember, but honesty and gentleness had been working in his favour. Each of his truths and expressions of vulnerability seemed to break Bree’s fortresses down more and more. He had come too far to start all over again. So even though he was certain the truth would allow her to burn a hole right into his already mangled heart, he did it anyway. “Because I wanted ye,” he said so raw and bare, it bruised. “Because ye are everyting that I ‘ave ever wanted, I just didn’t think it in my reach.”

“So, I guess you just think of us as possessions?” Bree pushed her naked body all the way up into a sitting position. It had been a struggle to untangle herself from the tightness of the sheet and the slab of muscle keeping her captive, but it was necessary to drive her point home.

She was looking for a fight, but her kiss swollen lips and mangled red hair, only made Stephen want to roll her around in the sheets again. “No Brianna, I tink of ye as much more than a possession, but yes, _you are mine_.” He replied with a playful, half smile at her ridiculousness.

“Did you want us because you didn’t want anyone else to have us… or because--” She sucked in a breath, voice shaking, terrified of the answer. She didn’t need to finish the question; Stephen didn’t even need to hear it to know what she was asking.

“ _Ye are everythin’ that I ‘ave always wanted Brianna…_ Ever since I was a young lad. I just didn’t think I’d ever be able to ‘ave it… And _ye’ve given me_ the brawniest son on this Earth.” He smiled again, gently grasping her chin with rough fingertips. “I tell ye… my fau’der-- he wasn’t very nice to me, or to my mau’der… _he_ was a damned bastard to put it bluntly.” He shrugged, as if it were so far in the past it didn’t matter anymore. “And ye see, when ye came to me in the jail and ye told me I was to be a fau’der,” he smiled, “it changed sometin’ in me. Ye reminded me, of what I wanted to be… and-- _what I don’t want to be._ ” He said his piece with pale green eyes full of honesty and conviction. But then his voice became deeper, before Bree could finish analysing what he had said, something flickered in his eyes, something dark and menacing. “Aye,” He growled, “ye are both mine, and I wouldn’t be lettin’ any other man ‘ave ye,” eyes now filled with desire, he whipped Bree back down onto his chest, as if he possessed every inch of her body.

The issue was pointless to fight over but Bree couldn’t stop her walls from wanting to go back up, it was the perfect opportunity to pull away. “Did you know that you can have things without stealing them Stephen? … without _forcing them._ ” Struggling against him and glaring she added, “it just takes a bit of work.”

Noticing Bree struggling against him and not wanting to start back at square one, he lessened his hold on her body. “I’m not a patient man darlin,” he smirked.

Replying to his blaze comment, Bree gave him a curt snort.

Apparently completely unphased by their small altercation, Stephen then wedged the top of her head into the crook of his neck. Then watched as Bree began to spin and play with the new piece of silver occupying her finger. “Do ye like it?” He asked, so softly it was almost like he was afraid to be heard.

“Yes,” she nodded, deciding the fight wasn’t worth it tonight. A truce for one more night, wouldn’t kill her. “It’s beautiful, how did you manage to organise it so quickly?”

“I didn’t--” muttering, he muffled a few words under his breath.

“Pardon?” Bree reared back, “I didn’t hear you.”

“It was my mau’ders,” he clipped out. Shuffling around uncomfortably he added, “it’s really the only thing I ‘ave left of her… And I thought, well…. My Wife should ‘ave it.”

Bree laid still for only a second, taking in that piece of information. Then untangling herself from Stephen, she raised onto her knees in front of him. Leaning in she took his face between her palms, “you are the most complicated man I have ever met Stephen Bonnet, a total iceberg.” Her amber eyes raced back and forth between his, a standoff and interrogation, they asked, _“who are you?”_

“How is it possible for you to damage and hurt me so bad, but yet heal me at the same time?” She whispered. “Every time you say things like that to me, my heart hurts in the best of ways. That’s why I was crying. Because _I hate you… but I don’t…I just- I can’t.”_

Bree told herself that it was out of duty that she let Stephen use that ridiculously, hard, steel rod for a second time that night. In truth, it seemed like the only action that could possibly express and decompress the overwhelming flood of emotions, that seemed to sit overtop of them like a thick cloud of passion.

He had started slowly, agonisingly slowly, trailing kisses from the sensitive spot behind her ear to the swell of her breasts. There was a tenderness in the way he touched her, a softness she’d never thought him capable of. “Ye’re so beautiful Brianna, I’ll never tire of ye.” His muffled voice filled with her creamy flesh made desire swarm and flush every inch of her body, to the point she just couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay- yes- you’ve made your point… _I-I want you_.” She said the last part on a moan.

The sound of her voice was like a plea, an anthem to Stephen’s undoing. His face couldn’t have been anymore smug if he tried, but Bree couldn’t seem to find the strength to wipe it off his face.

Gliding his way back up her body, he then settled himself between her legs. Then, growling in her ear, he made it irrevocably clear, his intentions. _“I’ll ruin you for any other man, I promise ye dat.”_ Like he knew he had rein in the beast, he almost aggressively, flipped Bree over, so he was flat on his back and she straddled his hips. “Is dis how you want it, _A rúnsearc,_ ” he purred, eyes clouded with lust, “ _all_ the control?” Digging his fingers into her hips he pulled her down onto him even further, attempting to satisfy his achingly hard erection. “Anything you want, it’s yers.” He groaned, “You need only ask Brianna.”

Bree couldn’t answer back, the sweeter the words and promises he made, the further down she came onto his shaft. Before long she was riding him, hips moving front to back, circling from side to side, bringing her closer to the point of release.

Stephen’s big palms took in turns, clutching Bree’s hips for leverage, to practically ripping his hair out. “Tell me what ye are Brianna,” He begged, hands trailing down her body in wonder. “Tell me what you are, and I promise, I will always protect ye. Even if it’s not good, even if it’s bad, evil-- forbidden.”

Bree moaned from the sensuality of the moment, fighting to unknot her eyes she peered down at him, “you still think I’m fairy?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he chuckled, stifling a groan as he pulled her hips farther down, deeper.

Before he could ask any more questions, she shut down his lust filled ramblings, “I’m human, that’s all you need to know. Okay?”

“For now,” he gritted out, firmly holding Bree still by the waist. Clearly aggravated, he trailed hands further down her body until they settled on her hips. Spreading his hands as large as they would go, he captured as much hip and cheek as he could, and began primally thrusting his hips faster, then faster again. Grunting and chasing the release it appeared he desperately needed.

Seconds later it was all over, he hadn’t even caught his breath before he was pulling out of Bree. Flipping her over, he knelt between her legs and with one ridiculously strong yank he had her body in position, her legs over his shoulders. “I’ll try again, when all ye can tink about is my head between your legs.” Growling, he began to devour her, a feast that unknowingly, would bring Bree, both pleasure and pain.

*

_Running, fighting, pushing through the mounds of men just to reach the plank. Seemingly so close, yet so far away. Five more dead men, and he’d be there. Five more men standing between him, his wife, and his son._

_“Stephen, tell me lad, do you think they’ll sink or swim?” Black eyes glimmered back from the safe end of the plank. “With your pritty wife’s hands bound, I think no doubt that they’ll sink?”_

_Aidan, laying on the tip of the plank, his small hands clenched into fists and his legs kicking, demanding to be consoled. He’s Crying, afraid and alone._

_And Brianna is bound and gagged, tears running down her face._

_They would both drown, and he couldn’t stop it. She knew it, they both knew it._

_He has no voice, only guttural grunts and roars are to be heard as he shovels through the crowd of men._

_No matter how hard he fights back, these men rise from the dead. These five men, they just won’t seem to die. One, grunt, two, roar, three, groan. Throats slit, warm blood trickling down his forearm, blood spattering onto his face. Why won’t they just die? Four, five, swords in guts. Yet one, two, three suddenly resurrect._

_And then with a painful cry, he watches as his entire newfound world, falls into the abyss. And even though he knows he would, he can’t follow them._

_*_

_With sweat pouring down his face and soaking his chest, Stephen awoke with a gasp. Patting the bed, he attempted to ground himself to reality. A mound of long soft curls were splayed out across the pillow next to him. Gliding his hand further down, he sighed in relief and serenity to feel soft and silky skin next to him. A softness that could only be Bree._

_It had only been a dream._

_No, a nightmare_.

Carefully he placed two feet onto the floor and made his way to Aidan’s room. There he was, in his bassinet right where he should have been. Apparently finally achieving the goal he’d been trying to reach for weeks. Rolled over onto his tummy, he slept soundly, thumb in mouth. “Well my son,” Stephen whispered, placing his big palm on Aidan’s tiny back. “Ye may very well be de only good ting I’ve done with my life.” Sighing, he continued, “And in case, for whatever reason, I’m not around to watch ye grow into a man, thank you. For makin’ me a fauder, for teaching me how to care… _how to love._ ”

That was the moment that Stephen Bonnet realised something obvious to everyone except him. He needed them, more than they needed him.

*

The following morning, Bree awakened to cold sheets, in the once warm spot next to her. The sun shone in through what she could now see were large French doors, that lead out onto a balcony. Beautiful. The kind of place she would have wanted to go on a vacation, back in 1969.

Slipping her shift over her head, then wrapping the sheet around herself she made her way out of the bedroom to retrieve Aidan. She wasn’t particularly surprised to see that Aidan had already been taken out of his bassinet, but she was surprised to see that it wasn’t Mrs Nelly who had taken him. Already dressed, in breeches, boots and a loose fitted shirt, minus a cravat, sat Stephen with Aidan. They were seated at a large dark wood table in the centre of house’s kitchens. Firmly snug in between a forearm and bicep, Aidan happily cooed and proceeded to grab his unphased father by the nose. Stephen’s other hand held what appeared to be worn out map. “Good morning,” Bree cleared her throat, making her presence known. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so late.”

“Nonsense, it’s still early, I was only makin’ arrangements so that we might spend the day together.” Standing he made his way over to Bree with a devilish smile on his face. “I thought,” he ran a hand along her décolletage, “you might also be tired from late night antics.”

“Oh! Stop it!” She blushed, swatting his hand away. Reaching out she took Aidan from his arm and made her way to another one of the chairs at the table. “What did you have in mind for today?” She asked, beginning to feed her rabid baby.

“Well I ‘ave some business to attend to in town, but den I thought we could head down to the markets. I tink ye’ll find them rather rich in adventure.”

“Sure, that sounds nice. I’ll head upstairs now and get ready.” Smiling Bree stood from her chair and headed towards the large, spiral staircase, with Aidan in tow.

“The wardrobe is full of all yer clothing-- everything that you might need.”

Taken aback Bree froze, “all of my clothing?”

Not even glancing up for a moment, Stephen replied with his head still stuck in his map. “Aye, yes of course. Beautiful tings, for my beautiful wife.”

*

Clothing had been an understatement. The rather large closet wasn’t just filled with fine gowns, it was also filled with matching slippers, jewellery, hair combs and brooches. Literally anything and everything that Bree could have ever possibly dreamt of. The blood drained from her face at the realisation that he intended to keep them there. Maybe forever. Pushing that thought to the side, she settled on one of the plainer gowns. Soft yellow, an almost sheer linen, perfect for the hot Jamaican climate. To complete her ensemble, she then threw her hair up, with a simple gold comb.

Next, she settled Aidan into some soft, cotton clothing and a small frilled bonnet. A necessary addition to ensure his pale Irish/ Scottish skin wouldn’t burn in the tropical sun. Satisfied that they were both ready for the day, they made their way downstairs to meet Stephen and set out on their adventure.

*

Hours later, Bree had watched as Stephen had closed multiple dodgy deals regarding whiskey and gold. Captain Blackbeard hadn’t made an appearance yet, and she was thankful for it. Just when she was about to dig her heels in, at being dragged into yet, another dark and dingey establishment, the carriage pulled to a stop. Peering out through the window she noticed that they were parked in front of what seemed to be a never-ending walkway of market stalls. Thick, aromatic smells of herbs and unidentified meats invaded her senses like a pungent fog. She smiled at Stephen as he stood from the carriage and shouted to the coachman to return for them in an hours’ time. “Are ye ready darlin?” he asked with a half-smile, reaching his hand up to help guide her down the two steps to the ground.

“I couldn’t take another brothel or pub, if I’m honest.” Looking down, Bree noticed that unlike every other man in the eighteenth century, Stephen had presented her with his hand to take, as opposed to his arm. She was certain that was due to a lack of refinedness, but it felt familiar, like a little piece of home. She had also learnt from their outing, that he possessed a fierce possessive, jealous streak, that she had never witnessed in any other red-blooded male before. That had been evident when every single man with in a ten-mile radius had been too afraid to so much as glance her way. It had made for an entertaining afternoon.

Laughing to herself at the thought, she humoured him by taking his hand once she finished strapping Aidan to her chest with her makeshift carrier. Then they made their way down the middle of the dirt market lane.

*

Chickens.

Chickens, alive and dead. Jerked and unjerked. Seemed to be all that filled the large number of vendors. There were fresh fruits and vegetables, herbs, and candlesticks. There were also a large amount of pearls, fresh water, and salt. Bree also noticed that herself and Stephen captured the attention of men and women alike, their stares were often, but didn’t last for more than a second. It wasn’t until her first purchase of bananas, papayas, and a few handfuls of cashews, that she realised what was happening. The common denominator from earlier that day had made an appearance again. All stares were returned with a scold that the devil himself would fear. “Stop that, you’re scaring people,” she hissed, whipping her hand from Stephen’s.

“Dat’s the way I like it,” he purred in her ear from behind. Reaching around Bree’s small body, he slipped a silver coin into the old shop keepers’ hand. Bree felt his biceps tense around her, making desire trickled down between her thighs. The thought of such a beautiful man shirtless, was apparently all it took. “Are we quite finished out ‘ere? Anyting else yer heart desires.”

“Actually yes, some herbs.”

“Well that will be all the way down to the end. Are ye sure you want to head down der darlin’? It’s full of witches and voodoo.”  
  


“Really?” she perked up, “that sounds really interesting. I’d love to go.”

“Alright den, hopefully der’s no ritual sacrifices,” he smirked, so handsome Bree felt a stupid smile form on her face.

*

After what felt like a mile in the sweltering heat, Bree finally noticed that the market stalls were becoming fewer and farther in between. The crowds had thinned significantly, and she soon realised that Stephen, herself, and Aidan stood out like bulls in a china shop. Except this time, Stephen was the china, not the bull.

Finally, they came across a small booth of an assortment of herbs. Each arrangement hung from thin ropes, aiding the drying out process. Politely and with grace, Bree did her best to request her purchase and then paid for the small cloth bag.

“And what’s dat you’ve got der? Fairy dust?” Stephen chastised, throwing a strong arm around her waist to pull her in close.

“No.” she sneered, examining the small cloth bag once again. “Ginger and aloe vera leaves… the cure to stomach aches and sunburns.” The ginger and papayas would also help aid in the way of a contraception, but he didn’t need to know that. He also didn’t need to know that she had been timing her cycles. Specifically so she wouldn’t fall pregnant again.

Rolling his eyes Stephen began to steer his family back towards where they had come. They had just passed through a couple of booths when Bree felt a tug on her free arm. Startled, she paused, then turned into the direction of the assault. “Can I help you? She asked, nervously, but with enough bite to show the old woman she was unimpressed. Upon closer inspection, Bree could see that the woman’s once black hair, was now mostly grey. Perhaps, what was once perfect eyesight was now also gone. Her irises and pupils were clouded over to appear almost white; she was a startling sight to say the least.

"You,” the grey-haired woman accused, approaching closer to the point her fingers grazed the edges of Brianna’s cheekbone. “w-what are you?” Still staring in starry wonder, she tiptoed in closer, as if Bree were a mythical creature from a fairytale.

Distressed, Bree reared backwards. As if in sync, she felt Stephen tow her into the same direction, into a safe, hard wall of muscle. “I-I don’t know who you think you are, or what you think you know, but I am just like everyone else,” she ripped her arm from her assailant’s grasp.

“You can’t be real.” The woman started to explain herself again, “because-- you’re not alive.”

**A/N: AHHHH! I have been dying to write this chapter since I started this story. What does everyone think? Hopefully it was unexpected, although I doubt it was.**

**Also, some fun facts: Jamaica has an amazing array of native exotic fruits, veges, nuts and herbs.**

**-Voodoo is also an ancient custom of theirs. Mixing medicine, spiritualism, and ancestral communication.**

**\- A rúnsearc (uh ROON-shark)- is an Irish Gaelic word which is a deeply passionate way of saying “beloved” or “secret lover.”**


	18. "Age Isn't Just A Number"

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from Outlander. They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

**A/N: Another chapter for you guys, I don’t want to say too much, so I’ll just say please enjoy and try not to bite all your fingernails off!**

Warnings: Coarse language, sexual content, and violence.

Chapter 18: “Age Isn't Just A Number” 

“I-I beg your pardon, b-but I believe you are mistaken,” Bree stuttered, stepping back even further. Her defences were at high alert, this woman knew something, even if it wasn’t entirely correct. “I am most certainly _alive.”_

Meanwhile, Stephen stood at the ready, contemplating whether he should put his pistol between the woman’s eyes. “I be requestin’ to know, what exactly has given you the impression, that a woman who’s standin’ right in front of ye, isn’t alive?” He asked, calmly, too calmly. A trait, he only possessed when in the act of charming, or up to less than gentlemanly things.

The woman only smiled. Unable to make successful eye contact, she looked between the pair and settled for what would be an ear or a nose. She then explained herself further, “I could feel it before I saw it… Your spirit and soul…they are very unusual.” She murmured, her accent thick, each word struggled to pronounce, but still completely understandable. Stepping forward, she reached back out to take Bree’s hand. Closing her glazed over eyes, she then took Bree’s palm into her warm and rumpled hand. Speechless and stunned, Bree could only freeze and allow the strange and invasive woman to read her like a book.

Bree watched as Stephen’s riled face soon turned into curious and amused, proving he would be little help in helping her escape. He was finally going to get what he wanted: _what she was and where she came from._ He stood there silently; his entire body hunched forward to join the two much smaller women.

Tenderly and with care the woman ran her rough hands along the lines of Bree’s palm, after about a minute she said, “I’m Isheeba, the healer. My people respect me. But others, the ones that come from the ships, they’re frightened of me.” She paused, and with eyes closed, she continued following the lines of Bree’s hand. “But you, you are not like them,” as if reaching a conclusion she then opened her eyes and smiled warmly. “I think I see now…” Slowly, Isheeba dropped Bree’s hand, all the while still holding the warm and nurturing smile on her face.

Miniature and dark-skinned, Isheeba was also an elderly lady. Tender in her touch, with too many wrinkles on her face; time, wisdom, and a good hard life and given them to her. She was beautiful in the most wholesome of ways, inside and out. “You are very special Brianna,” Had Bree given her, her name? She couldn’t recall. “The answers that you seek… You will not find them in Scotland. They are _here,_ in _Jamaica._ ” She paused, seemingly choosing her next words wisely. “And… _the pain-- in your heart_ … you can’t run from it.” Pausing once again, she spared Stephen a knowing look. Noticing Bree slowly retreating backward, she stopped her fortune tale. But it was too late, before she could say anything else, Bree was turning forward and taking off like a bat out of hell. “He won’t shun you!” Isheeba shouted after Bree, “Whatever it is my child, if you tell him, he won’t shun you!”

Stephen was at the ready to follow her, that was until he felt Isheeba’s hand grasp the sleeve of his shirt. “I see _all_ you’ve done,” she hissed, “you are not a good man… Nonetheless, you have crossed into each other’s paths against so many odds. It is fate, nothing less.” Shocked and surprised in himself that he hadn’t flown off the handle in a rage from the self-proclaimed healer’s audacity, he stood shell shocked, waiting to hear what else she had to say. “When she’s ready, wants more answers…. _Margaret, take her to Margaret..._ and your son… protect him. Many will try to hurt him.”

”My son?” He barked, fuse completely blown. “What do you know of my son?” Growling, he raised his voice before asking more. “And— What… What is she?” 

“I don’t know what will happen to your son, only that there is danger.” She cried, nervous from Stephen’s approach. “All I know is that…that one…” she pointed in the direction Bree had ran off to. “She is special—precious…. She is here for a purpose; she will do many good things.”

Torn between, wanting to argue or torture her for more answers, Stephen simply scoffed and glared. Knowing Bree already had a head start and Blackbeard could be anywhere in Jamaica by now, he grabbed Isheeba by the wrist and slammed a silver coin into her palm as payment. “I’m rather talented at trickery myself,” he spat, narrowing his eyes. “For your trouble,” he added, looking down to the coin in her hand. Then with hell in his eyes, he stepped in closer, “And I’d be warnin’ ye, to keep your witchcraft and voodoo-black-magic away from my family. Ye won’t like what happens to ye should any of that touch dem.” And with that said, he turned on his heels and stomped into the direction of his wife and child.

*

“Are ye daft woman!” Stephen hollered at Bree from behind. Her short, quick strokes were no match for his long strides. “Brianna, answer me! Are ye daft!” he shouted again, this time reaching close enough to grasp her arm from behind. “Ye must be, or have you forgotten the number of men dat could be on this island, wanting to ‘arm ye?” Noticing that he was drawing a crowd from his outburst, he wrapped a whole hand around her bicep and began to drag her back to where the carriage had been awaiting them. Pointlessly, Bree fought, pulling her arm in every direction to free herself. She stopped when she noticed it was agitating Aidan and decided, he was more important than her womanly pride. In no time at all they were back to where they had started, except now, Stephen was breathing heavy, nostrils flaring in obvious anger. “Get in.” he bit out, “We will be ‘aving a very long overdue discussion when we get back to the house.”

Shaking her arm loose from his grasp, she turned to face him, “you know I don’t have to do everything that you tell me to do.” It was no question it was a statement. Dipping her head back to stand her ground, she made close eye contact. Not blinking once, she watched as Stephen’s eyes narrowed in on hers. His piercing green orbs looked straight into her sparkling yellow ones. Then in a scrutiny that made Bree feel naked, they dropped down to her lips, before finally settling on the soft white bonnet sitting on Aidan’s head.

But just as quickly as he had been angry, Stephen’s harsh demeanour changed, washed clean from his face, as if a realisation had hit him square between the eyes. Flashing a wicked grin and raising an eyebrow he said, “Mrs. Nelly,” he looked past Bree to lock eyes with the woman who was behind them. Surprised that she hadn’t seen her before, Bree whipped her head back around to see clear as day, Mrs. Nelly standing behind them. “Would ye mind relievin’ my wife of our son for a moment?” As quickly and as smoothly as he had said it, Stephen reached forward and lifted Aidan from Bree’s chest.

“Hey!” Bree reached forward, swatting upward to where Aidan was happily above his father’s shoulders. Delighted to have the air hit his overheated skin, Aidan giggled and kicked his legs at his father’s touch. “Traitor,” Bree muttered under her breath.

Tossing Aidan only an inch over his head, Stephen smiled up at his son, before returning to the task at hand. Handing Aidan over to the capable hands of their newfound nanny, he smiled charmingly at Bree, as if he hadn’t just intentionally pushed her buttons.

“Are you deaf and dumb?” she grit out, “I said give him back!” she reached forward once again.

“You can have him back in a moment darlin,” he taunted, his smile widening to reach his eyes, making crow’s feet. “Just as soon as you realise, there is no negotiation of my terms.” His words were unambiguous and definitive, he meant every _misogamist_ word.

Bree may have looked every inch the part of an eighteenth-century young woman, but she had yet to learn to act like one. Filled with a rage that made her see red, she lifted her leg and with immaculate precision, aimed her knee straight and true. _Her target?_ The one place that would surely knock this testosterone-fuelled Narcissism down a peg, or maybe even two.

However, there were two things she hadn’t anticipated: Stephen’s speed and agility, and the ten pounds of fabric between her knee and his balls.

With a quick block of his hands, he laughed at her failed attempt at crippling him. Scooping her up, he plopped her over his shoulder, as if she were nothing more than a sack of baby potatoes, his muscles not giving more than a little jerk at the initial strain. Stephen laughed as she pounded small fists into his back. “I tink I’ll be needin’ those again later, it would be best for them to be in one piece, don’t ye think darlin’?” He asked, patronizing her with a chuckle.

“You most certainly won’t be using any of that equipment on me, that is for damn well sure.” She sneered, attempting to free her body from his entrapment.

Seriousness then took over Stephen’s features, his laugh diminished and in one quick motion, he had Bree spun around so her back was pressed to his front. Much to Bree’s surprise, a rock-hard erection pressed into her back at the closeness. _Was he getting off on this?_ If he were, he certainly didn’t care that anyone could be watching. Thankfully, it looked like the coast was clear. Patrons and merchants seemed to have cleared for the evening and Mrs. Nelly had scampered off inside the carriage the moment she had Aidan in her arms. “I’d like as many children as I can put into ye,” he whispered in her ear, warm breath making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “And let me tell ye darlin, dat’s a lot.”

Just as Bree was ready to protest his confession, Stephen was tossing her into the carriage. Slamming the door as quickly as he could, he then got in on the other side. Bree felt as though she were a misbehaving puppy; trying to run past its master after being locked in the laundry room for the night.

Angered beyond belief for more reasons than she could comprehend, she stewed the entire carriage ride back to the secluded home. Bree knew she had to wait until she and Stephen were alone to have it out, she couldn’t just lash out with Mrs Nelly and Aidan within ear shot. So, she tried to ignore that on little thing that caused her to hit the boiling point.

Stephen’s position _of power_.

At some point, Stephen had reached the consciousness that physically, he could overpower her. Therefore, he had decided he could take whatever he wanted and bend her to his will. _He hadn’t changed, not really._

_*_

Bree made sure she hadn’t made eye contact with him the entire ride, but Stephen being Stephen, hadn’t taken his eyes off her. A mischievous taunting stayed dormant in his eyes the entire time.

Before the carriage had even come to a screeching halt, Bree was handing Aidan back over to Mrs. Nelly, preparing for the fight of her life.

Noticing Bree’s hostility Stephen attempted to soften her anger, “Oh, comb now darlin’, don’t be too mad now.”

Scoffing Bree, followed Stephen down the coach’s step, ignoring his hand to help her down. Mrs. Nelly came off last, scurrying away from the sparring couple. “I’ll be inside with wee Aidan, ye two take all the time ye need.” She rushed out, darting towards one of the house’s many doors.

Marching away from Stephen, Bree attempted to follow in behind. She knew what his little ‘chat’ indetailed, and she wasn’t up for it. “That’s quite all right Mrs. Nelly, that won’t be necessary, I believe my discussion with Captain Bonnet is finished.” Taking two more steps, she was stopped by an arm wrapped around her waist pulling her in backward.

Breathing her in deeply against the side of her neck, Stephen smiled into her skin. “No darlin’ we haven’t even begun our little chat.” He crooned, lifting her feet from the ground.

Panicked, that she couldn’t see Mrs. Nelly or anyone anymore for that matter, Bree threw her elbow forward and swung it back to hit Stephen’s abdomen.

Clenching the six-pack of muscles in his stomach, he let out a low groan from the contact. “Now, now darlin, dat’s no way to be treatin’ yer husband,” he struggled to say through gritted teeth. Although weakened from the jab, he didn’t release his hold on Bree. Instead, he tucked his head into the nape of her neck and recovered through a few deep breaths. After a moment, he was as good as new and once again swung Bree around like a rag doll, throwing her back over his shoulder.

Panicked, that the direction Stephen was taking them was towards the back end of the house, Bree ferociously kicked and pounded her arms and legs. “Put me down, Stephen!” She thundered, rage and gravity making her face red. “You _goddamn neanderthal!_ ”

“ _Neanderthal_?” he questioned. Bree couldn’t see his face, but she could practically hear his eyebrow raise. “What’s dat exactly?”

“Oh, you know… A CAVEMAN, an _uncivilised, primitive savage!_ ”

Growling in aggravation, Stephen dropped Bree down to her feet, perhaps a little rougher than necessary. “I’ll return to being your civilised and gentlemanly husband when ye answer _all_ of my questions Brianna.” Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, he commanded her attention up to his face. “Ye’ll tell me, exactly what that old bat was talkin’ about, and ye’ll tell me now.”

“Gentlemanly?” she snorted, “CIVILSED?” she exclaimed, “when have you EVER been either of those things?” Pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, she took in her surroundings. He couldn’t have picked a more secreted spot if he had tried, surrounded by lush jungle, it was hard to believe that they were only a few short steps from their new shared home.

“Aye, Brianna, I have been more civilised and gentlemanly with ye than I ever have in my whole life. And it has been with great struggle. Now for Christ’s sakes, and for mine too, just tell me.”

Glancing around for any sort of escape, Bree shallowed hard before trying to answer. “And what if I don’t know that she was talking about… She was clearly crazy.”

She still wasn’t being honest, hadn’t he made it clear that there was nothing she could have said that would have changed his feelings towards her? Although, what those feelings were, he did not understand himself yet. “Ye and I both know, ye’ve been hiddin’ sometin,” Dropping his hands from her shoulders, he raised them to cradle her jaw. He stared into her brown eyes with so much pleading it hurt into the depths of her heart. It was like looking directly into the sun, painful and beautiful. “I meant it when I said… der’s nothin’ that you could say, or dat ye could be, that would make me not want ye.” Never peeling his eyes from hers, he ensured she paid attention while he continued, “Troll, witch, fairy, it’s all the same to me. Ye have me, Brianna. Body and soul, mind and spirit.”

Bree wanted desperately to give him something in return. His words were a confession of love, truth, devotion, and finality. He was giving her the one thing that she needed to be able to share her secret with him.

_Safety._

Wrapping her hands around the nape of his neck, she pulled him down to take his lips with hers. Salty tears swam down her face, her kiss was full of regret. Sadness and longing pulled at her heart strings, but it was loneliness that Stephen could taste, he understood that all too well. “Brianna,” Stephen mumbled between their lips, his tongue dancing to get more words out. “P-please,” he choked out, “please tell me.”

“I can’t—” she shook her head. “I just can’t.” She believed her words; this was about more than her or even her family. “It’s not safe, no one would be safe if I said too much.”

Frustrated, he broke the kiss. “Well can ye at least tell me,” his voice dropped lower, more irritated in tone. “Can ye tell me... Is Aidan, is our son, is he like you? Whatever it is that you are, is he like you?”

“…I don’t know yet…Maybe.”

Contemplating his next questions, he paused for the longest time before speaking. “Will ye leave me?” his voice broke at the last word. Shame, betrayal, he was transparent. He was so afraid of the pain, the pain of being left and forgotten.

Bree froze. Standing silent the tears still silently streamed down her face. Considering her answer repeatedly, she finally decided the truth was too hard to say. It was also an answer that wouldn’t matter either way. “The real question is… would you let me Stephen?”

“No.” There was no thought to his answer. He didn’t need to think about it. Bree was his. Aidan was his. His to shield, his to provide for and his to adore.

His.

Stephen wanted to shake her. Knock sense into her. Tell her she couldn’t see Aidan until she had told him exactly what her big secret was. But for the first time in his life, he felt defeated, exhausted—powerless.

So instead of becoming violent and manipulative, he dragged her forward, placed a kiss onto her forehead, and turned away, walking back towards the front of the house.

“Where are you going!” She chased in behind, “I thought… I thought… we were going to… resolve this?” She’d lost her confidence by mid-sentence. Since when did Stephen storm off and let her win an argument? “Stephen-- wait!”

But he didn’t wait. He just kept going. That was until he heard her tone of voice change, rendering her defeated. Exhaustion and desperation, a similarity that mirrored his own.

“D-do you remember when I told you I was twenty-two?” She asked, her voice nervous and uncertain. “And then you said… you were thirty-three. And I guess you thought you were what… eleven years older than me.” She was beating around the bush, she knew it, he knew it.

“Yes darlin, I remember.” Turning around fully now, he began to walk back slowly, like approaching a timid animal about to spook.

“Well…” She smiled weakly, “let’s just say, you’re a lot more than eleven years older than me.”

Raising an eyebrow, he hesitated and asked, “h-how… much older darlin’?” He moved to stand directly in front of her. Looking down at her pale amber eyes, he saw all her terror and doubt. She shouldn’t have been fearful; she had no need to. “Don’t be afraid sweet’art…just tell me.”

“Well…” she swallowed hard, “that woman said I wasn’t alive-- because I haven’t been born yet.”

A/N: Yes guys, she's finally told him!

FINALLY. thoughts on this chapter?

You'll notice that Stephen will start to seem a little out of character, this is because he is growing as a character. It is intentional!


	19. Do you Believe Me?

** Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or ideas from Outlander. They belong to Diana Gabaldon. **

A/N: Sneaky little chapter for you guys. Sorry my updating is slow at the moment, I’m back to work from having time off from Covid and I have a three-year-old son who is extremely demanding. Love to you all and hope you are all staying safe x

Warnings: Sexual Content, violence, and coarse language.

Chapter 19: Do You Believe Me?

The silence was unbearable. All Bree could hear was the wind between the rustling of the trees and the soft sounds of the violins of crickets chirping. She stared up into Stephen’s eyes, waiting, terrified as to what he would say to her secret.

Stephen gave nothing away. He’s expression remained vacant, no lightness in his eyes. Only a furrowed brow gave any inclination that he was deep in thought.

“Well say something!” Bree cried, pulling him down to her by his neck. “Stephen, please say something… anything.”

Moving his eyes from the distance, he found her face. Pulling her hands away from his neck he created distance between them. “Dat’s what yer secret was?” He asked, taking a large step back.

“You don’t believe?” She asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Still, he didn’t say anything, only turned away and began to walk back towards the house.

Panicking, Bree ran in behind him. “That’s all you have to say?” She shouted, pulling back on the crook of his arm. “After all the bombarding you’ve done, you have nothing else to say about it?”

Turning around, Stephen met her eyes. Giving a warm and sad smile, he ran his rough fingers against her jaw. “Don’t stay out here by yourself, it’s not safe.” Running his hand through her hair, he continued to walk away, leaving Bree alone in a lush jungle with only her thoughts.

*

After several hours of simmering her feelings, Bree was angry. More than angry, she was hurt.

Stomping back into the house, red in the face, curls drenched with sweat, she went searching for Stephen. When she finally found him, he was in the last place she would have expected.

Standing over Aidan’s cradle, he stood watching him sleep. “What are you doing?” She asked, all the anger she’d felt previously slipped out of her voice.

“Watching my son sleep,” he said, never taking his eyes off Aidan. “Making sure nothing disturbs him. Nothing hurts him.”

Bree nodded, understanding that feeling.

Standing along beside him, she lightly touched Stephen’s forearm. “About before…” She started, looking up to his face. “Do you believe me? Do you believe what I said?”

Looking towards Bree, with moist eyes he whispered, “I don’t remember much of my mauder, but I do remember her telling me stories. Stories of witches… stories of fairies and halflings…” He smiled briefly before looking back down to Aidan. “Brianna, she told me about the stones.”

Bree’s breath caught in her throat. “Y-you know about the stones?”

“Of course. But I also know what they mean for you… for us.” Sighing, he turned to face her. “You wish to leave… And I’m a selfish man darlin’, even if you would hate me for the rest of our lives, I can’t let you leave…. _I need ye._ ”

Gasping at his confession, Bree stepped away from him. “We can’t stay here Stephen. We don’t belong here. I’m from the twentieth century, not the eighteenth. I know too much- I could hurt people.”

Growling at how stubborn she was being, he pulled her against him. “Do ye want to leave? Tell me honestly.”

“I-I..” Bree breathed, a question like that was unfair to ask when all she could do was drink in the lust seeping off him. “I-I don’t know,” she cried, her voice not more than a whisper.

“I’ll make ye love me,” He breathed into her ear, before wrapping her hands around his neck and kissing her with so much determination and necessity she felt it in her toes. “I have to have ye Brianna, not just for today or for tomorrow, but for the rest of my life.” Dragging his teeth from her neck to her jaw, he held her firmly by her waist and began stalking out of Aidan’s bedroom.

Bree couldn’t feel the floor, she was floating on a cloud of Stephen. He ignited her. He set her entire being on fire, it invaded every one of her senses like a gas cloud. It was just them in that moment, no one else, nothing else. No stones, no secrets, no lies.

“I’m sorry Mo Cuishle, for everything that I’ve done to ye. For extinguishing your light, for stealing your innocence for my own. But I’m most sorry, because even now, I wouldn’t take it back. I’m a selfish man Brianna, and I won’t let you go.” Still holding her close and whispering into her ear, Stephen burst into their room and slammed the door closed with his boot.

Lust and emotions, he couldn’t fathom took over his body and mind. He needed a connection, warmth and security. Practically ripping Bree’s clothes off he had her stripped bare in what seemed like a matter of seconds. “I was sure something as beautiful as ye are, was a fairy.” He said grinning, biting her lip playfully.

Bree couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Pushing away from him with more sexual need that she thought herself possible of, she ripped into his breeches and grasped his steel rod in her hand.

Stephen groaned but eyed her sceptically for a moment. It had to be a trick. He wasn’t sure if it would ever be possible for her to initiate any sort of sexual escapades between the two of them. “You’ll have me?” He asked, his voice breaking with vulnerability.

“As messed up as it is, _I will_ ,” she said, never taking her eyes off him.

Pushing her backwards hungrily towards the bed, he stopped just as the backs of her knees hit the edge. Remembering her limitations, he pulled her in front of him then sat on the edge and pulled her down onto his lap. “Use me darlin,” he purred in her ear. “Let me please you. Let me pleasure ye.”

His words were a whisper against her ear. Intoxicating, sexy and full of honesty. Hands roaming her body, he kneaded and toyed every inch of her, far too gently for what Stephen Bonnet should have been capable of. Raising on her knees Bree slowly lowered herself onto him, savouring every inch all the way down to the hilt. When she hit the bottom, she took his lips with hers and kissed him hard with a desperation that roared her internal confusion.

Pushing Stephen on his back, she rode him slowly. Her eyes knotted and her breathing quickened. But she needed more, she needed him closer, more of him, all of him. “Get on top,” she pleaded on a moan, “please get on top.”

Stephen’s eyes sprang from her body and onto her face in shock. “But I thought….”

“Please,” she tried to pull them over onto their sides, but he was far too heavy. “I want you to, I’m asking you to.”

Stephen studied her face for a few more seconds before accepting her request. Rolling them over, he laid on top of her and took her thighs one at a time to wrap around his waist. He placed one hand on the nape of her neck and the other to her back side. Anchoring her to his body he began to thrust, _hard._

Stephen never broke their eye contact, he just kept thrusting into her repeatedly. Warm and wet, she felt like an oasis where nothing could ever touch him, could ever be taken from him, she was his and it made his soul shout with pleasure.

Moments later he couldn’t take it anymore and he thundered through his release. Sitting up onto his knees, he dragged Bree up with him. He placed both hands on the backs of her thighs and began bouncing her a top of him. Seconds later, there was nothing left inside of him but devotion for the woman in his arms.

Pulling them back down to the bed, he manoeuvred Bree, so she laid on top of him. They breathed heavily, unable to conjure up any words. Until finally, Stephen caught his breath and decided to speak the information weighing heavily on his mind. “Der’s someone I need to take you to see darlin’. We both need answers.”


End file.
